Shakespeare's  Plots 

A  Study  in  Dramatic 
Construction 


By 

William  H.  Fleming 

A.M.,  causa  honoris,  Princeton 

Author  of 
•«  A  Bibliography  of  the  First  Folio*"}    Editor  of  M  Much  Ado 
about  Nothing,"  Firtt  and  Second  "Henry  IV,"   Bank- 
tide  Edition  \  M  How  to  Study  Shakeapearc  |"  etc 


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"  I  should  have  been  so  poor,  so  cold,  so  shortsighted,  if  I  had 
not  learnt  in  some  measure  to  borrow  modestly  from  the  treasures  of 
others,  to  warm  myself  at  a  stranger's  fire,  and  to  strengthen  my 
vision  by  the  glasses  of  art.  I  have  therefore  always  been  ashamed 
and  vexed  when  I  have  heard  or  read  anything  which  found  fault 
.  with  criticism.     It  ought  to  stimulate  genius,  and  I  flatter  myself 

,v^       that   I   have  gained  something  from  it  which  comes  very  near  to 
genius."— Lessing,  Dramatic  Notes,  No.  ioi. 


\  ."Criticism  has  been  popularly  opposed  to  creation,  perhaps  be- 

X^  cause  the  kind  of  creation  that  it  attempts  is  rarely  achieved,  and  so 

the  world  forgets  that  the  main  business  of  Criticism,  after  all,  is  not 
to  legislate,  nor  to  classify,  but  to  raise  the  dead.  Graves  at  its 
command,  have  waked  their  sleepers,  oped  and  let  them  forth.  It 
is  by  the  creative  power  of  this  art  that  the  living  man  is  recon- 
structed from  the  litter  nf  binned  and  fragmentary  paper  documents 
that  he  has  left  to  pwteril  Walter  Raleigh,  Style. 


iii 


PREFACE 

"'THE  intellectual  measure,"  wrote  Ruskin,  "  of 
1  every  man  since  born,  in  the  domains  of 
creative  thought,  may  be  assigned  to  him  according 
to  the  degree  in  which  he  has  been  taught  by 
Shakespeare."  In  harmony  with  this  opinion  is 
that  of  James  Russell  Lowell:  "  There  is  as  much 
intellectual  training  to  be  got  from  the  study  of  his 
[Shakespeare's]  works,  as  from  those  of  any,  I  had 
almost  said  of  all,  of  the  great  writers  of  antiquity." 
These  men  were  both  critics  and  educators.  With 
their  sentiments  I  think  all  teachers  and  students 
of  literature  will  agree.  The  consensus  of  opinion 
of  the  competent,  therefore,  is  that  the  subject  of 
which  this  book  treats  is  of  superlative  importance. 
The  method  of  studying  a  drama  which  I  advo- 
cate and  exemplify  is  unique.  The  system  now  in 
vogue  is  to  study  the  play  in  detail,  Scene  by  Scene, 
Act  by  Act.  The  result  is,  the  student  has  no  con- 
ception  of  a  drama  as  a  Work  of  Art,  the  primal 
quality  of  v/hich  is  Unity.  Amiel  says,  "  There  is 
a  way  of  killing  truth  by  truths.  Under  the  pre- 
tence that  we  want  to  study  it  more  in  detail,  we 
pulverize  the  statue."  Likewise  the  present  method 
of  studying  a  drama  makes  of  it  a  series  of  dis- 
jointed, fragmentary  Scenes  and  Acts  having  no 
organic  connection. 

▼ 


vi  Preface 

"  The  less  cultivated  mind,"  says  Sir  William 
Hamilton,  M  lingers  over  the  parts,  the  multifarious 
details;  the  more  educated  combines  these  in 
unity."  My  effort  in  the  study  of  these  Shake- 
speare  plays  is  to  preserve  the  rhetorical  peispective, 
the  balance  between  the  minor  parts  and  the  plays 
as  complete  and  perfect  Works  of  dramatic  Art. 

The  method  by  which  I  attain  this  result  is 
simply  resolving  the  play  into  its  constituent  parts, 
and  then  following  Shakespeare,  step  by  step,  in 
his  construction  of  the  drama.  The  play  is  divided 
into  the  five  parts  of  which  every  perfectly  con- 
structed drama  is  composed,  viz.t  Introduction, 
Growth,  Climax,  Fall,  Catastrophe.  The  Main 
and  Sub-Actions  are  clearly  defined.  The  various, 
and  numerous,  parts  of  which  the  play  is  composed 
are  reduced  to  order.  Out  of  Variety — Variety  of 
Character,  of  Passion,  of  Action — there  is  developed 
Unity.  The  multifarious  details  are  seen  to  be, 
not  heterogeneous,  but  homogeneous;  not  unre- 
lated, but  correlated.  The  connection  and  harmony 
of  all  parts  of  the  play  become  apparent,  and  the 
play  becomes  aesthetically  intelligible.  As  an  ulti- 
mate result  of  this  critical  study,  which  I  have  tried 
to  make  both  interpretative  and  vivifying,  the 
reader  will  have  a  comprehensive  and  clear  concep- 
tion of  the  play  as  a  complete,  perfect,  organic  Art 
product;  and  will  be  enabled  to  read  and  study  in- 
telligently any  drama,  ancient  or  modern,  to  have  a 
lucid  perception,  a  lively  appreciation  thereof. 

The  book  is  intended  for  teachers  and  students, 
not  only  of  the  Shakespearian  drama,  but  also  of 


Preface  vii 

the  dramatic  literature  of  all  ages  and  nations. 
Primarily,  of  course,  it  deals  with  the  tragedies  and 
comedies  of  the  greatest  dramatic  genius,  the  great- 
est constructive  imagination,  the  race  has  produced. 
Who  knows  them  not,  to  quote  Sidney's  quaint  and 
felicitous  words,  "  to  be  the  flowers  of  poetry  did 
never  walk  into  Apollo's  garden." 

Wm,  H.  Fleming. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTIR 

I.— A  Drama  as  a  Work  of  Art  . 

II.— A  Drama  :  Its  Nature  ;  the  Laws  of 
its  Construction 


III. — Macbeth 

IV.— The  Merchant  of  Venice 
V. — Julius  CitSAR  . 
VI. — Twelfth  Night 
VII. — Othello. 
Index      . 


rxci 

i 


20 

53 

'37 

232 

3»9 

383 
461 


Shakespeare's  Plots 


CHAPTER    I 
A  DRAMA  AS  A  WORK  OF  ART 

ART  is  founded  upon  Nature,  of  which  it  is  the 
imitation,  or,  to  speak  with  greater  precision, 
the  representation, — re-presentation.  Conformity  to 
Nature,  therefore,  is  the  primary  test  of  perfection 
in  Art.  Nature  is  the  criterion  by  which  all  works 
of  Art  must  be  judged. 

There  can,  I  think,  be  no  dissent  from  this  prop- 
osition. Albert  Diircr  was  perhaps  the  first  Euro- 
pean artist  who  studied  Nature  carefully  for  its  own 
sake,  and  with  a  view  to  making  it  a  subject  of  Art 
The  result  of  that  study  is  expressed  in  these  words: 
"  Depart  not  from  Nature,  neither  imagine  of  thy- 
self to  invent  aught  better,  for  Art  standeth  firmly 
fixed  in  Nature,  and  whoso  can  thence  rend  her 
forth,  he  only  possesseth  her.'*  '  Nearly  three  cen- 
turies later  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  wrote: 

We  can  no  more  form  any  idea  of  Beauty  superior  to 
Nature  than  we  can  form  an  idea  of  a  sixth  sense,  or  of 
•  Knight,  Philosophy  of  the  Beautiful,  pp.  48,  49. 

I 


2  Shakespeare's  Plots 

any  other  excellence,  out  of  the  limits  of  the  human 
mind.  Nothing  can  be  so  unphilosophical  as  a  sup- 
position that  we  can  form  any  idea  of  Beauty  or  excel- 
lence out  of  or  beyond  Nature,  which  is,  and  must  be, 
the  fountain-head  from  whence  all  our  ideas  must  be 
derived.1 

This  truth  forms  the  sum  and  substance  of  Modem 
Painters.  Ruskin,  speaking  of  that  work,  says: 
"  From  its  first  syllable  to  its  last,  it  declares  the 
perfectness  and  beauty  of  the  work  of  God,  and 
tests  all  work  of  man  by  concurrence  with,  and  sub- 
jection to,  that."  ' 

While  it  is  true  that  Art  is  based  on  and  must  be 
true  to  Nature,  the  inference  does  not  follow  that 
therefore  Art  is  only  a  representation  of  Nature.  It 
must  be  like  Nature,  but  that  likeness  is  only  rela- 
tive. Nature  is  continually  changing,  is  in  flux,  is 
protean.  Forms  and  colors  are  in  process  of  evolu- 
tion. Even  those  arts  which  have  motion — poetry, 
music — cannot  represent  Nature  more  than  approxi- 
mately. Art,  therefore,  cannot  imitate  Nature  ab- 
solutely. Nor  should  it.  The  function  of  Art  is 
not  imitation  but  idealization.  The  appeal  is  to  the 
imagination.  Of  the  work  of  Art  we  can  say,  as 
Theseus  did  of  the  acting  of  the  Athenian  mechani- 
cals :  The  best  in  this  kind  are  but  shadows  ;  and  the 
worst  are  no  worse,  if  imagination  amend  them. 

Art  [says  Hegel]  is  no  mere  imitation  or  mirroring  of 
Nature.     It  is  a  transcendence  of  Nature,  *'.  e.t  of  the 

•  Knight,  Philosophy  of  the  Beautiful,  p.  182.  *  Idem,  p.  220. 


A  Drama  as  a  Work  of  Art  3 

actual  Every  great  artistic  work  must  have  Nature  for 
its  basis  and  its  starting-point;  but  in  proportion  to  its 
greatness  it  rises  from  this  foundation  It  lives  and 
moves,  as  it  were  amphibiously,  in  the  two  worlds  of 
the  actual  and  the  ideal.' 

The  material  world  is  but  a  mirror  which  reflects 
something  that  transcends  itself.  It  is  the  expres- 
sion of  the  mind  and  feeling  of  the  Creator.      It  is 

The  Garment  of  Life  which  the  Deity  wears. "'• 
God  manifests  Himself  in  Nature.  Similarly  the 
artist  expresses  himself  in  his  work.  He,  like  God, 
is  a  creator.  His  creative  work,  the  art-product,  be 
it  a  cathedral,  a  statue,  a  picture,  a  symphony,  a 
poem,  is  the  medium  through  which  he  reveals  his 
innermost  thoughts  and  feelings.  In  it  he  ex- 
presses those  ideas,  moods,  visions,  which  the  as- 
pects of  Nature  awaken  in  him.  "  A  work  of  Art 
is  not  made  up  of,  or  exhausted  in,  a  series  of  lines, 
curves,  surface-forms,  colors,  sounds.  It  is  nothing 
if  it  does  not  disclose  feeling  and  thought  [mind]."  * 
As  before  said,  not  imitation  but  idealization  is 
the  supreme  function  of  the  artist.  "  Art,"  says 
Bacon,  "  is  man  added  to  Nature."  The  artist,  if 
great,  portrays  Nature  truthfully,  with  a  subtle,  in- 
definable ideality  which  is  his  own.  The  work  of 
Art  is  like 

.     .     :     the  pools  that  lie 
Under  the  forest  bough 

1  Knight.  Philosophy  of  the  Beautiful,  p.  7a. 

1  Paust,  Taylor's  translation.  Scene  t. 

1  Knight,  Philosophy  of  the  Beautiful,  p.  72. 


4  Shakespeare's  Plots 

In  which  the  lovely  fqrests  grew, 

As  in  the  upper  air, 
More  perfect  both  in  shape  and  hue 

Than  any  spreading  there.' 

The  analogy  between  Nature  and  Art  is  not 
limited  to  appearances,  superfices.  It  extends 
much  deeper  and  further,  viz.,  to  growth  in  Na- 
ture, composition  in  Art.  In  each  case  the  source 
is  not  external,  but  internal.  In  a  plant,  a  bird,  it 
is  the  life  within  which  finds  expression  in  growth; 
in  an  art-product  the  source  of  composition  is  what 
Schiller  has  described  as  "  der  Spieltrieb,  the  play- 
impulse.  The  animal  works  when  a  privation  is  the 
motor  of  its  activity,  and  it  plays  when  the  pleni- 
tude of  force  is  this  motor,  when  an  exuberant  life 
is  excited  by  action."'  When  not  hungry  the  in- 
sect flits  about  in  the  sunlight,  the  bird  sings,'  the 
lion  roars.  A  man  when  well  fed  and  vigorous  is  in 
a  plus  condition.  This  superabundance  of  vitality 
expresses  itself  among  savages  in  a  crude  attempt 
at  decoration,  among  the  highly  civilized  in  Art.  In 
the  former  it  is  sensuous,  in  the  latter  it  is  aesthetic 
play.     The  source  in  each  is  the  same. 

This  activity  is  independent  of  any  pressure  of 
material  need.     It  is  indulged  in  for  its  own  sake 
It  is  spontaneous.   As  Herbert  Spencer  expresses  it  : 

1  Shelley,   The  Recollection . 

»  Schiller.  /Esthetic  Education  of  Man.  Letter  XXVII  Cf 
Bosanquet,  History  of  .'Esthetic,  pp.  281,  294-296. 

•Socrates  says  those  who  think  swans  sing  as  death  approaches 
because  they  bewail  death  are  in  error,  "  and  do  not  reflect  that  no 
bird  sings  when  it  is  hungry,  or  cold,  or  afflicted  with  any  other 
pain,"  sea.  PhaJo,  35. 


A  Drama  as  a  Work  of  Art  5 

The  higher  but  less  essential  powers,  as  well  as  the 
lower  but  more  essential  powrrs,  thus  come  to  have 
activities  that  are  carried  on  for  the  sake  of  the  immedi- 
ate gratification  derived,  without  reference  to  ulterior 
benefits  ;  and  to  such  higher  powers  aesthetic  products 
yield  those  substituted  activities  as  games  yield  them  to 
various  lower  powers. ' 

In  this  respect  the  activity  which  manifests  itself  in 
the  play  of  the  higher  animal,  a  primitive  man,  a 
savage,  is  similar  in  nature  to  that  exercised  by  the 
man  of  culture  in  the  production  of  the  greatest 
work  of  Art.  The  difference  is  not  one  of  essence, 
but  of  degree.  The  play-impulse  has  developed 
into  the  art-impulse. 

Further,  the  play-impulse  and  the  art-impulse  are 
similar  in  that  both  are  imitative.1  The  play-impulse 
finds  expression  among  animals  in  such  gambols  as 
simulate  its  serious  activities,  c.  g.,  search  for  prey; 
among  savages,  in  games  which  imitate  those  activi- 
ties which  are  necessitated  by  the  struggle  for  exis- 
tence, or  by  warfare,  e.  g.%  the  mimic  chase  or  mimic 
fighting.     "  All  simple,  active  games,"  says  James, 

1  Principles  of  Psychology,  p.  630 

For  a  detailed  statement  of  the  various  theories  as  to  the  Origin 
of  Art,  cf.  Gayley  and  Scott,  Methods  and  Materials  0/  Literary 
Criticism,  vol.  i.,  pp.   1 73- 1 76. 

'"To  imitate,  then,  is  instinctive  in  man.  By  this  he  is  dis- 
tinguished from  other  animals  that  he  is,  of  all,  thi  most  imitative, 
and  through  this  instinct  receives  his  earliest  education." — Aristotle. 
Poetics,  part  i.,  section  v. 

"  The  dramatic  impulse  the  tendency  to  pretend  one  is  some  one 
else,  contains  this  pleasure  of  mimicry  as  one  of  its  elements." 
— Jime*,  Psychology,  vol.  ii.,  p.  409. 


o  Shakespeare's  Plots 

M  are  attempts  to  gain  the  excitement  yielded  by 
certain  primitive  instincts,  through  feigning  that  the 
occasions  for  their  exercise  are  there."  '  The  art- 
impulse  manifests  itself  in  an  imitative  delineation 
of  the  beautiful  in  Nature. 

Between  the  two,  however,  there  is  one  well-de- 
fined difference.  Play  does  not  manifest  itself  in 
Art  until  there  is  in  it  an  element  of  order.  Hence 
there  is  no  Art  among  animals.  The  caper  of  the 
savage  becomes  a  dance  only  when  there  is  rhythm, 
the  shout  a  song  only  when  there  is  melody.  "  The 
beautiful  cannot  have  its  origin  in  tumult,  in  the 
simultaneous  reverberation  of  a  crowd  of  sounds  in 
which  the  ear  can  distinguish  no  measure  or  har- 
mony, nor  can  the  plastic  arts  discover  it  in  the  mere 
wanton  medley  of  colors  and  of  lines."  * 

Order  is  an  essential  quality  of  the  work  of  Art. 
It  is  the  presence  of  this  quality  which  distinguishes 
the  expression  of  the  play-impulse  of  the  man  of 
culture  from  that  of  the  animal  or  the  savage. 

To  recapitulate-  man  possesses  a  life  which  is 
.sensual  and  is  conditioned  by  material  needs.  Co- 
existing therewith  he  possesses  a  life  which  is  emo- 
tional, spiritual.  Each  manifests  itself  at  times  in 
action.  This  action  possesses  the  two  qualities, 
spontaneousness,  imitativeness.  In  the  less  evolved 
the  sensuous,  this  action  is  play.  In  the  highly 
evolved,  the  intellectual  and  spiritual,  this  action 
is  Art. 

1  Psychology,  vol.   ii.    pp.  427.  423.     Cf.   Baldwin.    The  Story  oj 
the  Mind.  pp.  43-5 1 . 
1  M.  Auguste  Laugel.  LOptique  ct  Us  Arts. 


A  Drama  as  a  Work  of  Art  7 

Art,  then,  being  based  upon  Nature,  its  source 
being  an  impulse  common  to  animals  and  men,  and 
the  work  of  the  artist  being  in  essence  or  character 
similar  to  that  of  the  Creator,  each  being  the  ex- 
pression of  thought,  feeling,  through  a  material 
medium  which  appeals  either  to  the  eye  or  ear,  it 
necessarily  follows  that  the  methods  followed  by 
the  artist  must  be  similar  to  those  followed  by  God 
in  creation.  The  laws  which  regulate  the  produc- 
tion of  a  work  of  Art  are  similar  to  those  which 
govern  the  growth  of  a  flower,  a  tree,  a  bird,  an 
animal,  a  man.  The  artist's  model,  therefore,  is 
Nature  and  her  processes.  Nature  must  be  the  pat- 
tern for  all  his  forms  of  hue,  or  tone,  or  curve.  The 
architect  for  his  shapes  and  forms,  his  outlines  and 
exquisite  grace  of  curve,  imitates,  with  more  or  less 
modification,  those  which  are  everywhere  visible  in 
the  material  world.  The  painter  for  his  colors,  and 
the  way  they  should  be  combined,  imitates  those 
found  in  the  flowers,  the  opal,  the  morning  and 
evening  clouds  before  or  after  rain.  The  musician, 
in  his  quest  of  beauty  born  of  sound  for  his  melody 
and  harmony,  imitates  the  sounds  of  wind  and 
ocean,  the  singing  of  birds,  the  human  voice. 

The  highest  product  of  creation  is  man.  He,  both 
physically,  intellectually,  spiritually,  is  the  ideal 
art-form.  "  The  human  form,"  said  Goethe,  "  is 
the  Alpha  and  Omega  of  all  known  things."  '  There 
are  certain  latent  affinities  between  the  aspects  of 
nature  and  human  thought  and  emotion.  In  fact, 
the  analogy  between  the  mind  and  feelings  of  man 

1  Faust,  Taylor's  translation,  notes,  p.  279. 


8  Shakespeare's  Plots 

and  the  objects  in  the  external  world  is  so  close  that 
the  latter  are  beautiful  only  to  the  degree  that  they 
express  qualities  that  are  human. 

It  is  [says  Jouffroy]  in  proportion  as  objects  recog- 
nized as  beautiful  resemble  man,  or  in  so  far  as  they 
mirror  our  humanity,  that  they  are  to  that  extent  deemed 
more  beautiful  by  us.  It  is  the  grace  of  the  lily,  the 
tenderness  of  the  color  of  the  rose,  the  peace  of  the  sky 
at  sunset,  that  are  the  source  of  their  charm;  but  grace, 
tenderness,  and  peace  are  human  characteristics.1 

Every  great  work  of  Art,  therefore,  must  conform 
in  all  particulars  to  man.  Only  to  the  degree  that 
it  expresses  qualities  which  are  peculiarly  human, 
which  are  intellectual,  emotional,  spiritual,  does  it 
manifest  the  highest  beauty. 

Of  all  men  who  have  lived  probably  no  one  pos- 
sessed a  more  artistic  sense,  united  with  a  more  per- 
fect artistic  technique,  than  William  Shakespeare. 
Describing  the  function  of  his  own  art,  he  says: 
The  purpose  of  playing,  whose  end,  both  at  the  first  and 
now,  was  and  is,  to  hold  as  ' 7  were  the  mirror  up  to 
nature ;  and  to  do  so  with  this  special  observance, 
that  you  derstep  not  the  modesty  of  nature.  To  essay 
that,  to  endeavor  to  improve  on  Nature,  is  wasteful 
and  ridiculous  excess.     It  is  simply  attempting 

to  paint  the  lily, 
To  throw  a  perfume  on  the  violet, 
To  smooth  the  ice,  or  add  another  hue 
Unto  the  rainbow,  or  with  taper-light 
To  seek  the  beauteous  eye  of  heaven  to  garnish. 

1  Knight,  Philosophy  of  the  Beautiful,  p.  115. 


A  Drama  as  a  Work  of  Art  9 

Nature,  both  in  its  appearances  and  processes,  is 
the  model  of  Art.  Nothing  unnatural  is  beautiful. 
Only  to  the  degree  in  which  Art  conforms  to  Na- 
ture is  it  enduring,  perfect.' 

In  studying  Art,  therefore,  the  best  method  is 
one  similar  to  that  pursued  by  scientists  in  the  in- 
vestigation  of  Nature,  viz.,  Classification.  This  is 
literally  the  making  of  classes.  Its  basis  is  the  rec- 
ognition of  the  Unity  underlying  Variety  in  Nature. 
Its  method  is  the  grouping  of  various  species  under 
the  proper  genera,  families,  orders,  classes.  Her- 
bert Spencer,  in  the  essay  on  the  "  Classification  of 
the  Sciences,"  defines  it  as  follows: 

A  true  classification  includes  in  each  class  those  ob- 
jects which  have  more  characteristics  in  common  with 
one  another  than  any  of  them  have  in  common  with  any 
object  excluded  from  the  class.  Further,  the  character- 
istics possessed  in  common  by  the  colligated  objects, — 
and  not  possessed  by  other  objects,  are  more  radical  than 

1  "  When  the  poet  broods  over  his  half-formed  creation,  and 
fashions  it  with  divine  ingenuity,  and  gives  it  shapeliness  and  Com- 
pletion of  detail,  and  the  lustre  of  finished  workmanship,  he  docs 
not  forsake  his  instincts,  but  is  obedient  to  them;  he  does  not  re- 
move from  nature  into  a  laboratory  of  art,  but  is  the  close  com- 
panion of  nature.  The  vital  spontaneous  movement  of  the  faculties, 
far  from  ceasing,  still  goes  on  like  '  the  flight  of  the  grey-gull  over 
the  bay,'  while  the  poet  seeks  after  oVder,  proportion,  comeliness, 
melody — in  a  word,  beauty  ;  or  rather.  .  .  .  does  not  seek  but 
is  sought — the  perfect  form,  preconceived  but  unattained.  drawing 
the  artist  towards  itself  with  an  invincible  attraction.  An  artist  who 
does  not  yield  to  the  desire  for  perfect  order  and  beauty  of  form,  in- 
stead of  coming  closer  to  nature  is  really  forsaking  nature,  and 
doing  violence  to  a  genuine  artistic  instinct.' — Dowden,  Studies  in 
Literature,  p.  486. 


io  Shakespeare's  Plots 

any  characteristics  possessed  in  common  with  other  ob 
jects — involve  more  numerous  dependent  characteristics 

In  other  words,  characteristics  which  objects  in  the 
same  class  have  in  common  must  be  greater  in  num- 
ber and  in  degree  than  those  which  they  have  in 
common  with  objects  outside  of  this  class. 

The  object  of  classification  is  clear.  We  understand 
things  if  we  can  comprehend  them;  that  is  to  say,  if  we 
can  grasp  and  hold  together  single  facts,  connect  isolated 
impressions,  distinguish  between  what  is  essential  and 
what  is  merely  accidental,  and  thus  predicate  the  general 
of  the  individual,  and  class  the  individual  under  the 
general.     This  is  the  secret  of  all  scientific  knowledge.1 

Classification  is  simply  a  recognition  of  the  like- 
ness or  unlikeness  of  certain  objects.  It  underlies 
not  only  Nature,  but  also  Language,  Reasoning, 
Art.  In  studying  the  latter,  as  the  former,  there- 
fore, the  first  step  is  to  classify.  The  scientist  clas- 
sifies or  puts  together  certain  kinds  of  rocks,  plants, 
animals,  men.  This  is  the  method  pursued  by  the 
Creator  in  His  works.'  Rocks  that  are  alike  are 
grouped  in  the  same  mountain  ranges,  or  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  same  streams;  leaves  that  are  alike  grow 
on  the  same  tree  or  similar  kinds  of  trees;  feathers 
or  hair  that  are  alike  grow  on  the  same  birds  or 
beasts;  men  that  are  alike  are  placed  in  the  same 
climate,  country,  family,  race.  The  Creator's 
method  is  in  strict  accord  with  Classification,  put- 
ting  like    with    like,  and    men  have  progressed  in 

1  Max  Muller.   The  Science  of  Language    Lecture  I. 
*  Cf.  Raymond,  Genesis  of  At  t- For. -n.  chap.  i. 


A.  Drama  as  a  Work  of  Art         i « 

knowledge  of  Nature  only  to  the  degree  in  which 
they  have  pursued  a  similar  method,  and  have  clas- 
sified. This  truth  applies  with  equal  force  to  the 
study  of  Art. 

The  recognition  of  this  fact  is  neither  universal 
nor  forceful.     Hence  this  plea  for  its  application 
to  the  drama,  and  particularly  the    Shakespearian 
drama.     While  this  is  not  the  only  method  by  which 
a  play  can  be  studied  properly,  it  is  facile  princeps  ; 
in  fact,  it  is  the  one  which  is  absolutely  necessary 
in  order  to  appreciate  a  play  as  a  work  of  Art.     It  is 
the  only  one  by  means  of  which  the  study  of  the 
Shakespearian  drama  can  be  taken  out  of  the  do- 
main  of  chaos,  where  it  now  is,  and  be  made  scien- 
tine.     It  reveals  the  laws  of  dramatic  construction, 
and  thereby  does  for  a  play  what  the  laws  discov- 
ered by  Kepler  and  Newton  did  for  the  study  of 
astronomy.       The   methods    usually    pursued    are 
necessary,  and  yield  rich  fruit.     No  one  can  make 
any  pretensions  to  Shakespearian  scholarship  unless 
he  is  thoroughly  familiar  with  them.     I  therefore 
do  not  disparage  them.    At  the  same  time  they  are 
incomplete  and*  defective,  both  in  method  and  re- 
sult.    They  cause  too  minute  attention  to  details.' 

1  "  The  aim  in  expounding  a  great  poem  should  be,  not  to  dis- 
cover an  endless  variety  of  meanings,  often  contradictor)',  but  what- 
ever it  has  of  great  and  perennial  significance  ;  for  such  it  must 
have,  or  it  would  long  ago  have  ceased  to  be  living  and  operative  ; 
would  long  ago  have  taken  refuge  in  the  Chartreuse  of  great 
libraries,  dumb  th-nceforth  to  all  mankind.  We  do  not  mean  to 
say  that  this  minute  exegesis  is  useless  or  unpraiseworthy,  but  only 
that  it  should  be  subsidiary  to  the  larger  way."— Lowell,  Among 
My  Books,  pp.  44.  45> 


i2  Shakespeare's  Plots 

This  begets  a  mental  short-sightedness  which  is  al- 
ways fatal  to  the  appreciation  of  any  artistic  master- 
piece as  a  whole.1  In  order  to  apprehend  the  play 
as  an  organic  work  of  Art,  to  perceive  the  Unity 
which  underlies  the  Variety,  it  must  be  studied  ac- 
cording to  the  methods  of  Classification.  This 
method  is  simply  resolving  the  play  into  its  constit- 
uent parts,  separating  like  from  unlike  and  joining 
like  with  like.  To  descend  to  particulars,  the  play 
must  first  be  divided  into  the  five  parts  of  which  a 
perfect  drama  is  composed,  viz.,  Introduction, 
Growth,  Climax,  Fall,  Catastrophe.  This  analysis 
must  be  further  applied  to  the  Action  of  the  drama. 
The  Main  Action  must  be  clearly  defined  from  the 
Sub-Actions.  All  the  factors  forming  the  Main 
Action  must  be  classified;  so  also  must  those  form- 
ing one  or  other  of  the  different  Sub-Actions.  Then 
the  Plot  which  binds  these  divisions,  actions,  to- 
gether, and  makes  the  play  an  organic  whole,  must 
be  traced.  The  result  is,  the  parts  of  the  play 
which  are  various  and  numerous  are  reduced  to 
Order.  Out  of  Variety,  Variety  of  Character,  of 
Passion,  of  Action,  there  is  developed  Unity.  The 
multifarious  details  are  seen  to  be,  not  heterogene- 
ous, but  homogeneous;  not  unrelated,  but  corre- 
lated. The  connection  and  harmony  of  all  parts  of 
the  play  become  apparent.  The  result  is,  the  play 
becomes  aesthetically  intelligible.  As  an  ultimate 
result  of  this  method  of  study,  one  will  have  a  com- 

1  "  There  is  a  way  of  killing  truth  by  truths.  Under  the  pretense 
that  we  want  to  study  it  more  in  detail  we  pulverize  the  statue." 
— Amiel. 


A  Drama  as  a  Work  of  Art         13 

prehensive  and  clear  conception  of  the  play  as  a 
complete,  perfect,  organic  art-product.'  To  be 
more  specific,  the  following  will  be  some  of  the 
most  important  results  of  this  method  of  study: 

I. — The  law  of  art-composition  will  become  mani- 
fest. The  evolution  of  a  drama,  like  movement, 
growth,  in  Nature  is  in  strict  accordance  with  laws. 
The  movement  of  the  heavenly  bodies  is  not  more 
perfectly  harmonious  with  the  laws  of  gravitation, 
or  the  growth  of  an  organism  is  not  more  in  accord 
with  its  structure  and  environment,  than  is  the  evo- 
lution of  a  drama  in  harmony  with  the  laws  of  art- 
composition.  This  fact  is  made  apparent  by  the 
application  of  the  scientific  method  to  the  study  of 
the  drama.  This  method  is  both  analytic  and  syn- 
thetic. It  is  unbuilding  and  also  rebuilding.  It  is 
both  deductive  and  inductive.  After  the  play  has 
been  reduced  to  its  component  factors  and  they  are 
classified,  then  they  are  again  united  and  the  play 
is  reconstructed.  In  the  latter  operation  the  laws 
of  composition  become  manifest.  As  a  result  of  this 
the  following  qualities,  which  are  inherent  in  prod- 
ucts of  Nature,  and  therefore  must  of  necessity  be 
inherent  in  every  work  of  Art,  become  manifest': 
Unity,  Variety,  Complexity,  Order,  Comparison, 
Contrast,  Complement,  Principality,  Subordination, 
Balance.  Derived  from  these  are :  Grouping.Organic 
Form,   Symmetry.      This  statement   of  attributes 

1  Hegel  expresses  this  thought  as  applied  to  logic,  in  his  doctrine 
of  the  "  Notion,"  as  Begrtff\?,  commonly  translated.  Cf,  his  Logic, 
vol.  iii.  ;  also  his  Encyclopedia  of  the  Sciences,  p.  160,  sea. 

*  Cf.  Raymond.  Genesis  of  Art-Form,  p.  131. 


14  Shakespeare's  Plots 

of  a  work  of  Art  is  not  exhaustive.  It,  however, 
mentions  the  principal  ones.  The  study  of  a 
drama  after  the  method  of  Classification  will,  as  it 
progresses,  reveal  the  existence  therein  of  these 
properties;  and  also  the  underlying  laws  of  compo- 
sition in  accordance  with  which  the  artist  has  con- 
structed  his  play. 

II.  -It  makes  apparent  the  fact  that  the  primary 
element  in  a  Shakespearian  drama  is  not  Characteri- 
zation but  Plot.  As  to  the  perfection  of  Shake- 
speare's Characters  there  can  be  no  uncertainty. 
All  competent  to  form  an  opinion  will  agree  with 
Dr.  Johnson  ':  "  They  are  the  genuine  progeny  of 
common  humanity."  But  while  true  to  Nature 
they  are,  as  Gervinus  says:  "  Not  Nature  only 
without  the  assistance  of  Art.  They  are  neither 
mere  abstractions  and  ideals,  nor  common  chance 
personifications,  such  as  life  brings  indifferently  be- 
fore us,  but  they  stand  in  the  free,  true,  real  artistic 
medium  between  both."  But  the  opinion  expressed 
by  Gervinus,  which  is  so  common  as  to  be  almost 
universal,  "  that  Shakespeare's  characters  have 
always  been  his  greatest  glory,"*  is  erroneous. 
Scholars  have  been  led  into  making  this  error  by 
two  causes;  one,  the  fact  that  Shakespeare's  great 
advance  beyond  the  Greek  drama  is  the  perfection 
of  his  character-drawing;  the  other  and  principal 
one,  that  the  plays  are  studied  almost  wholly  from 
the  aesthetic  standpoint.  In  both  cases  the  atten- 
tion  is  directed  primarily  to  the  Characters,    and 

1  Preface  to  his  edition  of  Shakespeare's  Plays. 
*  Shakespeare  Commentaries,  p.  849. 


A  Drama  as  a  Work  of  Art         1 5 

secondarily  to  the  Plot.  The  great  poets  of  the 
world  have  been  before  all  else  artists.  In  their 
work  it  is  not  the  intellectual,  the  xsthetical  which 
is  supreme.  It  is  the  art.  When  the  construction 
of  the  dramas  is  critically  studied  the  fact  becomes 
evident  that  their  transcendent  greatness  is  the  Plot. 
Plot  in  a  drama  is  simply  design.  It  is  the  modus 
operandi  by  which  the  artist  out  of  a  chaos  of  char- 
acters, actions,  passions,  evolves  order.  This  order 
is  not  that  of  mechanical  regularity.  It  is  far 
deeper  and  more  vital.  It  is  that  of  a  living  organ- 
ism. It  is,  as  previously  remarked,  absent  in  the 
play  of  the  savage.  It  is  present  in  the  aesthetic 
play  of  the  artist.  It  is  the  primal  element  in  all 
art-work.  After  enumerating  the  elements  of 
tragedy,  Aristotle  says:  "  The  most  important  of 
these  elements  is  the  composition  of  the  incidents 
(the  plot  or  fable).  For  tragedy  is  a  representation 
(imitation)  not  of  men  and  women,  but  of  action  and 
life."     Still  again  he  says: 

If  you  string  together  a  set  of  speeches  expressive  of 
character,  and  well  finished  in  point  of  diction  and 
thought,  you  will  not  produce  the  essential  tragic  effect 
nearly  so  well  as  with  a  play,  which,  however  deficient 
in  these  respects,  yet  has  a  plot  and  artistically  con- 
structed incidents. 

Goethe,  who  spoke  out  of  his  own  experience  as  an 
artist,  expresses  a  similar  opinion:"  What  disting- 
uishes the  artist  from  the  amateur  is  architectonike"\x\ 
the  highest  sense ;  that  power  of  execution  which  cre- 
ates, forms,  and  constitutes ;  not  the  profoundness  of 


16  Shakespeare's  Plots 

single  thoughts,  not  the  richness  of  imagery,  not  the 
abundance  of  illustration."  "  Art,"  says  Ruskin," 
is  human  labor  regulated  by  human  design  and  this 
design,  or  evidence  of  active  intellect  in  choice  and 
arrangement,  is  the  essential  part  of  the  work."  '  In 
every  great  poem,  not  excepting  the  most  spon- 
taneous and  impassioned,  there  is  a  conscious  or 
unconscious  basis  of  intellectual  architectonics. 

The  word  Art  is  derived  from  the  Latin  ars, 
which  means  "  skill  in  joining  together,  combin- 
ing." That  in  turn  is  derived  from  the  Greek  aro, 
the  definition  of  which  is"  to  join,  pin  together, 
fit,  fasten."  The  main  object  in  art-composition  is 
to  reduce  the  factors  which  may  be  numerous  and 
various  to  unity  and  order  for  the  purpose  of  mak- 
ing them  aesthetically  intelligible.  This  is  the  func- 
tion of  Plot.  It  is  only  when  a  play  is  studied 
critically  from  the  standpoint  of  its  construction 
that  the  design  or  Plot  is  recognized  as  the  primary 
and  essential  quality  of  the  drama. 

It  is  both  erroneous  and  absurd  to  suppose  that 
Shakespeare  was  ignorant  of  the  supreme  impor- 
tance of  Plot.  Lowell  writes:  "  It  is  singular  that 
the  man  whose  works  show  him  to  have  meditated 
deeply  on  whatever  interests  human  thought  should 
have  been  supposed  never  to  have  given  his  mind 
to  the  processes  of  his  own  craft."  *     The  converse 

1  Lectures  on  Art,  Brant  wood  Edition,  i>.  215. 

*  The  Old  English  Dramatists,  p.  Ill  ;  cf.  also  Lowell.  Among 
My  Books,  pp.  189-201  ;  Literary  Essays,  vol.  ii..  p.  223,  foot-note  ; 
(losse,  Modem  English  Literature,  pp.  100-109 .  Johnson,  Ele- 
ments of  LAterary  Criticism,  pp.  24,  25  ;  Saintsbury,  History  oj 
Elizabethan  Literature,  pp.  1 69,  170. 


A  Drama  as  a  Work  of  Art         1 7 

is  true.  It  is  reasonable  to  believe  that  Shakespeare 
did  recognize  the  fact  that  Plot  is  the  primal  ele- 
ment in  a  drama.  The  perfection  of  his  own  plots 
proves  this.  Kis  plays,  with  the  exception  of  some 
written  in  his  tentative,  his  playwright  period,  are 
the  perfection  of  symmetry;  they  balance  around  a 
common  centre.  "  The  key  to  every  man  is  his 
thought."  l  The  key  to  every  drama  is  the  Plot, 
which  is  simply  the  poet's  originating,  constructing 
thought.  The  recognition  of  this  fact  is  one  fruit 
of  the  study  of  the  plays  according  to  the  method 
here  advocated. 

III. — The  study  of  a  drama  after  this  manner  is 
similar,  in  every  stage,  to  Shakespeare's  method  of 
constructing  it.  The  student  is  thereby  brought 
into  intellectual  and  imaginative  sympathy  with 
the  dramatist.  As  a  consequence  he  is  able  to  judge 
accurately,  to  appreciate  fully,  the  perfection  and 
beauty  of  the  drama.  Shakespeare's  method  was 
first  analytic,  then  synthetic.  He  analyzed  a  ro- 
mance or  history,  selecting  some,  rejecting  other  in- 
cidents. Then,  using  those  selected,  and  adding  to 
them  others  of  his  own  invention,  out  of  them,  as 
raw  material,  he  created  a  drama.  This  operation 
is  followed,  step  by  step,  by  the  student.  The  de- 
tails are  seen  to  be  perfect  in  themselves.  Further, 
that  each  one  is  essential,  for  in  a  perfect  drama  there 
is  no  lay  figure,  not  a  needless  word  or  action. 
Then,  passing  from  specials  to  generals,  the  growth 
of  each  division  of  the  drama  is  traced.  Finally  the 
drama  is  perceived  to  be  organic.     Each  and  every 

1  Emerson,  Circles. 

t 


18  Shakespeare's  Plots 

part  is  seen  to  be  vital,  and  to  be  in  living  connec- 
tion with  every  other  part,  and  all  together  con- 
stitute  a  perfect  work  of  dramatic  art. 

By  this  method  of  study  the  scholar  follows  the 
natural  order  of  intellectual  growth,  which  is  from 
the  concrete  to  the  abstract.  He  rises,  like  Shake- 
speare himself,  to  the  region  of  the  imagination,  and 

apprehends 

More  than  cool  reason  ever  comprehends. 

While  there  is,  as  Coleridge  ha;  stated,1  an  antith- 
esis  between    Science  and    Poetry,    this  antithesis 
is  not  great  in  degree  or  inherent  in  character.     Es- 
sentially, Science  and  Poetry  are  alike,  both  being 
expressions  of  truth.    As  in  character,  so  in  method 
are  they  similar.     "  The  highest  reach  of  science," 
says  Matthew  Arnold,  "  is,  we  may  say,  an  inven- 
tive   power,   a    faculty    of   divination    akin    to    the 
highest  power  exercised  in  poetry."'     And  again, 
"  without  poetry  our  science  will  appear  incomplete. 
.     .     For  finely  and  truly  does  Wordsworth  call 
poetry  '  the  impassioned  expression  which  is  in  the 
countenance  of  all  Science.'  "  '     The  critical  study, 
therefore,  of  Poetry  as  of  Science  is  the  joint  work 
of  reason  and  of  imagination;   of  the  imaginative 
reason.     This  is  true  of  Science.     "  Bounded  and 
conditioned  by  co-operant  reason,  imagination  be- 
comes the  mightiest  instrument  of  the  physical  dis- 

1  Lectures  on  Shakespeare,  Bohn's  edition,  p.  183,  seq. 

*  Essays  in  Criticism,  first  series,  pp.  50,  51. 

*  Idem,  second  series,  pp.  2,  3. 


A  Drama  as  a  Work  of  Art         19 

coverer,"  says  Tyndall.'  The  scientific  method  of 
studying  the  Shakespearian  drama  equally  demands 
the  use  both  of  reason  and  imagination.  I*  is  by 
means  of  both  that  the  still  and  mental  parts  of  the 
drama,  the  hidden  but  vital  connection  of  all  the 
factors  in  the  play,  and  the  artistic  result  of  that 
connection,  are  perceived.  By  means  of  both  the 
student  apprehends  not  only  what  is  really  in  the 
play,  but  also  what  is  potentially  there.  The  pro- 
duction of  that  beauty,  both  that  which  is  real  and 
that  which  is  potential,  and  the  perception  of  it  as 
well,  are  the  result  of  the  concurrent  action  of  a 
highly  trained  intellect  and  a  most  refined  and  dis- 
ciplined imagination.  The  method  of  study  here 
advocated  necessitates  the  exercise  of  both.  Hence 
it  is  in  accord  with  Shakespeare's  method  of  con- 
struction, and,  better  than  any  other,  will  enable 
the  student  to  appreciate  the  Shakespeare  plays. 

1  Scientific  Use  of  the  Imagination. 


CHAPTER  II 

A  DRAMA  :  ITS  NATURE  ;  THE  LAWS 
OF  ITS  CONSTRUCTION 

ITS  NATURE 

A  DRAMA  is  "  an  imitation  of  one  entire,  great, 
and  probable  action,  not  told  but  represented, 
which,  by  moving  in  us  fear  and  pity,  is  conducive 
to  the  purging  of  those  two  passions  in  our  minds." 
Such  is  Aristotle's'  definition  of  tragedy,  as  trans- 
lated by  Dryden.* 

Although  so  old,  and  referring  primarily  to  the 

1  Potties,  part  ii.,  section  ii. 

*  The  Grounds  of  Criticism  in  Tragedy. 

Other  translations  of  this  citation  from  Aristotle  are  : 

•'  Tragedy,  then,  is  an  imitation  of  some  action  that  is  important, 
entire,  and  of  a  proper  magnitude — by  language  embellished  and 
rendered  pleasurable,  but  by  different  means  in  different  parts — in 
the  way,  not  of  narration,  but  of  Action — effecting,  through  pity  and 
terror,  the  correction  and  refinement  of  such  passions." — Twining, 
vol.  i.,  p.  116. 

"Tragedy  is  a  representation  [lit,  imitation]  of  an  action  noble 
and  complete  in  itself,  and  of  appreciable  magnitude,  in  language 
of  special  fascination,  using  different  kinds  of  utterance  in  the 
different  parts,  given  through  performers,  and  not  by  means  of  nar- 
ration, and  producing,  by  [the  stimulation  of]  pity  and  fear,  the 
alleviating  discharge  of  emotions  of  that  nature." — Bosanquet, 
History  of  Aisthetic,  p.  64. 

C/.,  also,  Gayley  and  Scott,  Methods  and  Materials  of  Literary 
Criticism,  vol.  i. 

20 


A  Drama  —  Nature  and  Laws       21 

Greek  drama,  this  definition  of  Aristotle,  with  some 
slight  modifications,  is  substantially  true  of  the 
Shakespearian  and  modern  drama. 

One  of  those  modifications  relates  to  the  subject 
of  the  drama,  which,  Aristotle  says,  is  "  one  entire 

.  .  action."  He  restricted  a  drama  to  the 
imitation  of  one  action,  occurring  in  one  place,  on 
one  day.  This  is  the  Greek  law  of  Unity.  Shake- 
speare perceived  that  this  was  neither  natural  nor 
artistic  In  the  physical  world  time  and  change  are 
essential  elements  of  evolution.  The  same  is  true 
of  the  growth  and  development  of  a  man,  intel- 
lectually, emotionally,  ethically.  In  each  of  his 
dramas,  therefore,  Shakespeare  has  depicted  numer- 
ous actions,  occurring  frequently  in  widely  sepa- 
rated places,  at  many  different  times.  He  does, 
however,  preserve  Unity.  These  multiform  and 
apparently,  but  not  really,  inharmonious  elements 
are  fused  by  the  poet  into  one  aesthetic  whole. 

The  law  of  Unity  when  applied  to  the  Shake- 
spearian and  modern  drama  implies  in  it  the  exis- 
tence of  three  specific  properties: 

I  —  One  Main  Action.  There  may  be  several 
Sub-Actions,  but  there  must  be  one,  and  only  one, 
Main  Action.' 

1  "Now  the  poet  is  to  aim  at  one  great  and  complete  action,  to 
the  carrying  out  of  which  all  things  in  his  play,  even  the  very  ob- 
stacles are  to  be  subservient  ;  and  the  reason  of  this  is  evident. 
For  two  actions  equally  laboured  and  driven  on  by  the  writer, 
would  destroy  the  unity  of  the  poem  j  it  would  be  no  longer  one 
play,  but  two ;  not  but  what  there  may  be  many  actions  in  a  play  ; 
but  they  must  all  be  subservient  to  the  great  one  :  seo." — Dryden. 
Essay  on  Dramatick  Poesy, 


22  Shakespeare's  Plots 

II. — One  hero  or  one  heroine.  There  must  not  be 
more  than  one  of  either.   Neither  must  there  be  both. 

To  the  latter  dictum  there  is  an  exception. 
Sometimes  the  action  of  a  drama  is  the  result  of  the 
joint  conduct  of  a  hero  and  a  heroine.  In  such  a 
case  the  hero  and  heroine  are  a  dramatic  unit.  They 
are  like  a  binary  star,  two  stars  so  closely  situated, 
revolving  together  around  a  common  centre  of 
gravity,  that  they  emit  one  light;  or  like  two 
streams  which. join  and  together  form  a  river.  So  in 
a  drama  sometimes  there  are  a  hero  and  a  heroine 
who  are  so  intimately  related,  who  act  in  such  per- 
fect unison,  that  the  action  of  the  drama  is  the  re- 
sult of  their  joint  conduct.  Examples  of  such  a 
drama  are  Romeo  and  Juliet,  Macbeth.  With  this 
exception  a  drama  must  have  one  hero  or  one  hero- 
ine, but  not  both. 

III. — A  drama  must  portray  one  great  passion. 
As  human  conduct  is  very  complex,  is  the  expres- 
sion of  many  feelings,  thoughts,  purposes,  there  is 
in  a  drama,  oftentimes,  the  portrayal  of  several  pas- 
sions. One  of  these,  and  only  one,  must  be  domi- 
nant. All  others  must  be  secondary,  subdominant. 
This  dominant  passion  may  be  jealousy,  or,  more 
properly,  outraged  love,  as  in  Othello  ;  ambition,  as 
in  Macbeth ;  patriotism,  although  misguided,  as  in 
Julius  CcBsar  ;  love,  as  in  Romeo  and  Juliet.  There 
must  be  one,  and  only  one  dominant  passion  which 
sways  and  controls  the  dramatis  persona?. 

Such  is  the  law  of  Unity  when  applied  to  the 
Shakespearian  and  modern  drama. 

Again,  Aristotle  says,  "  not  told  but  represented." 


A  Drama —  Nature  and  Laws      23 

This  goes  to  the  very  heart  of  the  subject,  and  de- 
scribes, very  briefly,  but  with  unerring  accuracy,  the 
nature  of  a  drama,  whether  it  be  ancient  or  modern. 

The  term  "  drama  is  a  Greek  word,  derived 
from  the  verb  drao,  which  means  "  to  do,  be  doing, 
accomplish,  fulfil."  It  literally  means  something 
done,  a  performance.  A  drama  is  the  poetry  of 
conduci  Its  primary  and  essential  quality  is  action. 
It  is  not  simply  a  narrative  of  events.  If  it  were  it 
would  be  an  epic.  Nor  is  it  only  an  expression  of 
emotion,  passion.  If  it  were  it  would  be  a  lyric. 
"What  is  that  which  we  call  dramatic?'.'  asks 
James  Russell  Lowell.  He  answers-  "  In  the  con- 
crete, it  is  that  which  is  more  vivid  if  represented 
than  described,  and  which  would  lose  if  merely 
narrated."  ' 

That  which  differentiates  a  drama  from  an  epic 
or  a  lyric,  in  fact  from  every  other  form  of  literature, 
is  that  in  it  the  poet  expresses  his  thought,  emo- 
tion, not  so  much  by  words  as  by  action.  The  men 
and  women  who  are  the  medium  by  which  the  poet 
expresses  himself  appear  before  us  living,  speaking, 
acting.  The  theme  of  the  drama  is  man  in  action. 
That  action  is  a  collision  between  the  hero  and  the 
society  in  which  he  lives,  or  between  him  and  the 
great  moral  laws  which  govern  the  universe. 

A  drama  is  a  representation — re-prcsentation — of 
an  action,  its  causes,  its  progress,  its  consequences; 
as  it  reveals  and  affects  the  doer,  and  also  others 
within  the  scope  of  its  influence.* 

1  Tht  Old  English  Dramatists,  p.  35. 

•  Cf.  Lewes,  Problems  of  Life  and  Mind,  vol.  ii.,  pp.  116-118. 


24  Shakespeare's  Plots 

LAWS   OF  CONSTRUCTION 

A  drama,  like  a  house,  is  builded.  What  are  the 
laws  of  its  construction  ? 

The  laws  which  govern  the  construction  of  a 
drama  are  not  empirical,  capricious.  They  are  not 
the  dictum  of  any  man.'  Like  the  laws  which 
govern  the  material  world,  the  motion  of  a  star,  the 
growth  of  a  flower,  a  bird,  they  are  natural.  They 
inhere  in  the  nature  of  a  drama,  and  in  the  nature 
of  the  human  mind  which  creates  the  drama,  and 
which  understands  and  appreciates  it  when  it  is  read 
or  acted.     They  are,  as  Pope  says: 

Those  rules  of  old  discover'd,  not  devised, 
Are  Nature  still,  but  Nature  methodiz'd. 

The  artist  does  not  create  his  materials.  For 
these  he  goes  to  the  great  storehouse,  Nature. 
The  architect,  sculptor,  obtain  marble  from  the 
quarry,  out  of  which  the  former  creates  a  cathedral, 
the  latter  a  statue.  The  painter  uses  pigments  with 
which  he  portrays  the  varying  moods  of  landscape, 
ocean,  man.  The  musician  who  creates  beauty  born 
of  sound  imitates  the  tones  of  winds,  waters,  the 
singing  of  birds,  the  sob  of  the  child,  the  shout  of 
the  man.'  The  dramatic  poet  portrays  the  experi- 
ences  of   men    as    recorded    in    histories,    legends, 

1  "A  true  art  critic  deduces  no  rules  from  his  individual  taste,  but 
has  formed  his  taste  from  rules  necessitated  by  the  nature  of  his 
subject." — Lessing,  Dramatic  .Votes,  No.  19. 

1  Music,  however,  is  less  imitative  than  the  other  arts.  Cf. 
Knight,  The  Philosophy  0/  the  Beautiful,  part  ii.,  p.  137,  seq. 


A  Drama  —  Nature  and  Laws       25 

stories.  The  orginality  of  the  artist  is  not  in  the 
creation  of  the  materials  he  uses,  but  in  the  selec- 
tion and  use  made  of  them. 

To  apply  this  fact  to  a  drama,  and  to  Shakespeare 
as  an  example  of  dramatists,  with  the  possible 
exception  of  three  plays,  The  Tempest,  A  Midsum- 
mer-Night's  Dream,  Loves  Labour  's  Lost,  Shake- 
speare did  not  invent  the  stories  he  dramatized.  His 
plays  belong  to  the  romantic  drama.  Sciolists  have 
therefore  said  he  was  not  original.  Is  this  opinion 
well  founded  ?  What  is  originality  in  art-produc- 
tion ?  "  But,  in  general,"  is  the  opinion  on  this 
subject  of  the  great  poet  of  the  Restoration,  "the 
employment  of  a  poet  is  like  that  of  a  curious  gun- 
smith, or  watchmaker;  the  iron  or  silver  is  not  his 
own  ;  but  they  are  the  least  part  of  that  which  gives 
the  value;  the  price  lies  wholly  in  the  workman- 
ship." '  Originality  "  may  be  defined,"  says  New- 
man, "  as  the  power  of  abstracting  for  one's  self, 
and  is  in  thought  what  strength  of  mind  is  in 
action."  '  Walter  Savage  Landor  says:  "  Creative- 
ness  may  work  upon  old  materials ;  a  new  world  may 
spring  from  an  old  one."  '  With  this  dictum  Mor- 
ley  concurs:  "  As  high  a  degree  of  originality  may 
be  shown  in  transformation  as  in  invention,  as 
Moliere  and  Shakespeare  have  proved  in  the  region 
of  dramatic  art."  '  In  his  Essay  on  Walton,  Lowell 
asserts  that  Walton  did  not  open  new  paths  to 
thought  or  new  vistas  to  imagination,  but  that  he 

1  Dryden,  Preface  to  An  Evening's  Love. 

*  On  Aristotle's  Poetics. 

'  Selections,  by  Colvin,  p.  273. 

*  Miscellanies,  vol.  iii.,  p.  341. 


26  Shakespeare's  Plots 

suffused  whatever  he  wrote  with  his  own  individu- 
ality. "  This  constitutes  literary  orginality.  What- 
ever entered  his  mind  or  memory,  came  forth  again 
plus  Izaak  Walton."  On  this  subject  nothing  more 
forceful  has  been  written  than  the  words  of  Professor 
Royce : 

As  a  fact,  originality  and  imitation  are  not  in  the  least 
opposed,  but  are,  in  healthy  cases,  absolutely  correlative 
and  inseparable  processes,  so  that  you  cannot  be  truly 
original  in  any  direction  unless  you  imitate,  and  cannot 
imitate  effectively,  worthily,  admirably,  unless  you  imitate 
in  original  fashions.  The  greatest  thinker,  artist,  or 
prophet  is  merely  a  man  who  imitates  inimitably  some- 
thing in  the  highest  degree  worthy  of  his  imitation.1 

The  dramatist  does  not  invent  all  of  the  incidents 
used  in  his  plays.      /Eschylus  said  his  dramas  were 
but    "  dry    scraps    from    the    great    banquets    of 
Homer."     The   sculptor  does  not  invent   his  sub- 
ject, e.  g.,   Laocoon  ;  nor  does  the    painter,  e.  g., 
The  Madonna.     An  enormous  receptive  and  assimi- 
lative power  is  a  characteristic  of  genius.     As  the 
life  within  the  seed  appropriates  nourishment  from 
the    earth,    light,    atmosphere,    and    grows    into   a 
lovely  flower,  so  Shakespeare  appropriated  stories, 
histories,  old  plays,  and  by  his  creative  genius  pro- 
duced   from    them    his   dramas.      To  speak  meta- 
phorically, the    base    metal    he  found  in  Plutarch, 
Boccaccio,    Holinshed,    the    Gesta    Romanorum,    is 
transmuted  by  him  into  the  pure  gold  of  his  Roman 
plays,  his  delightful  comedies,  his  great  tragedies. 
And,   so  doing,  he,    like  other  artists,  is  original. 

'  The  Century  Magazine,  May,  1894,  p.  145. 


A  Drama  —  Nature  and  Laws      27 

Each  is  a  creator.  Each,  out  of  material  which  he 
has  borrowed,  creates  the  work  of  Art,  putting  into 
it  his  own  thoughts,  emotions,  life.     Each 

Makes  new  hopes  shine  through  the  flesh  they  fray, 

New  fears  aggrandize  the  rags  and  tatters: 
To  bring  the  invisible  full  into  play.' 

In  doing  this  Shakespeare  exercised  the  primal 
faculty  of  the  artist,  viz. ,  the  power  of  artistic 
selection.  It  is  this  faculty  which  enables  the 
dramatist  to  perceive  the  capabilities  of  his  ma- 
terial; to  select  those  incidents,  those  characters, 
which  are  suitable  to  representation  on  the  stage. 

Only  certain  actions,  certain  characters,  admit  of 
dramatic  treatment.  Not  only  the  life,  but  also  the 
form  of  a  poem,  is  contained  in  the  subject-matter. 
The  form  in  which  a  poem  is  written  is  to  the 
thought  and  emotion  of  the  poem,  to  its  life,  what 
a  man's  body  is  to  his  mind  and  spirit.  When  Mil- 
ton began  to  write  Paradise  Lost  he  put  it  in  the 
dramatic  form  as  a  Miracle  Play.  He  modelled  it 
after  the  Greek  drama,  with  a  chorus.  He  wrote 
part  of  the  poem  in  this  form.  Finally,  however, 
as  the  result  of  long  meditation  and  fresh  inspira- 
tion, he  was  convinced  his  subject  was  not  dramatic, 
but  epic.  He  therefore  changed  the  form  of  his 
poem,  and  made  it  not  a  drama,  but  an  epic. 

A  history,  ballad,  poem,  story,  to  be  dramatized 
must  possess  the  following  qualities! 

I. — It  must  have  a  theme,  e.  g.,  ambition,  love. 

1  Browning.  Old  Pictures  in  Flortnte. 


28  Shakespeare's  Plots 

II.— It  must  be  such  as  can  be  imitated  by  action, 
for  a  drama  is  imitation  by  means  of  action. 
III. — It  must  be  probable. 

IV. — It  must  be  organic;  f.  e. ,  every  detail,  every 
incident  must  be  in  vital  connection  with  the  Main 
Action. 

V. — The  characters  must  be  typical. 
Having  selected   his  subject  the  dramatist  pro- 
ceeds to  outline  his  Plot  or  scheme  of  action. 

Aristotle  considered  Plot  the  supreme  element  in 
tragedy.     He  calls  it  "  the  final  aim,"  "  the  soul," 
11  the  central  principle  "  of  tragedy.    Plot  is  design. 
It  is   the   skilful   arrangement  of  incidents,  of  ac- 
tions, by  means  of  which  the  thoughts  and  emotions 
of  the  dramatis  persona  are  expressed,  and  those  of 
the  spectators  are  appealed  to.    The  architect  takes 
the  blocks  of  white  marble,  and  out  of  them,  by 
means  of  his   plan   or  design,  which  is  in  strict  ac- 
cordance with  the  laws  of  beauty,  constructs    the 
grand  cathedral.     Likewise  the  dramatist  takes  in- 
dividual actions,   and   by   skilful  use  of    them,  by 
means   of    Plot    or    design,    constructs    the    great 
drama.     The  beauty,  the  grandeur,  of  the  cathedral 
is  not   in  the  marble,    but  in  the  plan  ;  that  of  a 
drama  is  not  in  tne  incidents,  but  in  the  Plot,  by 
means  of  which  they  are  artistically  fused. 

In  outlining  his  Plot  the  poet  divides  his  drama 
into  five  principal  parts,  which  in  the  modern 
drama  are  called  Acts: 

Protasis  Introduction  Act  I 

Epitasis  Growth  "     II 

Peripeteia  Climax  V    III 


A  Drama  —  Nature  and  Laws      29 

Katabasis  Fall  Act  IV 

Katastrophy         Catastrophe  "     V.' 

Why  five  Acts  ?  Why  not  three  or  four,  or  more 
or  less  ?  Is  this  division  of  a  drama  into  five  parts  or 
Acts  optional  with  the  dramatist,  or  is  it  inherent  in 
the  nature  of  a  drama  ?    It  is  essential,  fundamental. 

From  the  time  of  the  Greeks  to  the  present,  ar- 
tists have  recognized  the  fact  that  Balance  and  Sym- 
metry are  secured  by  the  use  of  an  odd  number  of 
factors  in  an  art-product,  e.  ^.,  in  a  building,  three 
or  five  stories  * ;  in  a  picture,  a  group  of  an  odd  num- 
ber of  figures,  or  an  uneven  number  of  groups.' 
This  canon  of  Art  is  applicable  to  a  drama.  Com- 
plement and  Balance  demand  that  there  should  be 
in  a  play  an  unequal  number  of  Acts. 

Further,  that  that  number  be  five  is  necessitated 
by,  and  in  strict  accord  with,  a  psychologic  law.  A 
drama  is  an  imitation,  by  means  of  representation, 
of  an  action.  A  drama,  therefore,  must  in  its  nature 
be  like  the  action  of  a  man,  or  a  body  of  men.  All 
life,  that  of  plants,  of  animals,  of  men,  of  nations, 
naturally  divides  itself  into  five  stages — birth,  rise, 
culmination,  decline,  fall.  Every  action  consists  of 
five  parts — Cause,  Growth,  Height,  Consequence, 
Close.  Based  on  this  analysis,  and  in  perfect  har- 
mony therewith,  a  drama,  when  resolved  into  its  con- 
stituent parts,  has  five  divisions.     In  its  quintuple 

1  The  division  of  Shakespeare's  plays,  as  we  have  them,  into  Acts 
and  Scenes  being  so  imperfect,  the  Acts  are  not  in  every  case  co- 
terminous with  the  above  five  parts, 

1  Cf.  Ruskin,  Seven  Ijimps  of  Architecture,  chap,  iv.,  sec.  xxix. 

1  Cf.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  The  Art  of  Painting,  note  xxxix.;  ef 
also  Raymond,  Genesis  of  Art'Form,  chaps,  iii.-v. 


30  Shakespeare's  Plots 

character,  therefore,  a  drama  is  a  perfect  analogue 
of  an  action.  If  the  division  of  the  drama  into  Acts 
is  perfect,  between  each  one  of  them  and  each  one  of 
the  five  divisions  of  an  action  there  is  a  correspond- 
ence which  is  essential,  structural.  That  which  in  an 
action  is  the  Cause,  is  in  a  drama  the  Introduction; 
likewise  the  Close  in  the  former  corresponds  to  the 
Catastrophe  in  the  latter.  The  same  is  true  of  the 
three  other  divisions  of  actions  and  dramas. 

The  Greek  sense  of  proportion,  of  ideal  form  in 
Art,  was  well-nigh  perfect.  Aristotle  divided  a 
drama  into: 

Protasis. — Entrance.    That  which  is  put  forward. 

Epitasis. — A  stretching.  That  part  of  a  play  in 
which  the  Plot  thickens. 

Peripeteia. — A  turning  right  about.  The  sudden 
reversal  of  circumstances  on  which  the  Plot  in  a 
drama  hinges. 

Katabasis. — A  going  down. 

KatastropJiy. — A  turning  up  and  down.  An  over- 
throwing. 

Horace,  in  his  Ars  Poetica,  says: 

If  you  would  have  your  play  deserve  success, 
Give  it  five  Acts  complete,  nor  more,  nor  less. 

The  opinions  of  Aristotle  and  Horace,  the  great- 
est of  the  ancient  critics,  have  been  accepted  by 
Lessing,  the  greatest  of  modern  dramatic  critics.' 

Shakespeare  possessed  the  greatest  constructive 
imagination  of  any  man  that  ever  lived.  He  is  the 
greatest  dramatic  genius  the  race  has  produced. 
He  accepted  this  canon  of  dramatic  art.     His  plays 

1  Cf.  Hamburgische  Dramaturgic  (Hamburg  Dramaturgy). 


A  Drama  —  Nature  and  Laws      3 1 

as  published  in  Folio  I.  are,  in  most  cases,  divided 
into  five  Acts.  In  no  play  are  there  more  than  five 
Acts;  in  some  few  plays  there  are  less;  //.  and  III. 
Henry  VI. ,  Troilus  and  Cressida,  Romeo  and  Juliet, 
Tinion  of  Athens,  Antony  and  Cleopatra  have  Actus 
Primus  only.  Hamlet  has  Actus  Primus  and  Actus 
Secundus  only.  Taming  of  the  Shreiu  has  four  Acts 
only,  Actus  Secundus  being  omitted.  Love's  La- 
bour 's  Lost  and  King  John  have  each  five  Acts,  but 
in  each  play  there  are  two  Actus  Quartus  and  no 
Actus  Quintus.  The  mistakes  made  in  the  division 
of  these  plays  into  Acts  are  like  Falstaff's  lies, 
gross  as  a  mountain,  open,  palpable.  So  evident 
is  this,  that  we  can  infer  with  certainty  that  that 
division  was  not  made  by  Shakespeare;  further, 
that  it  was  not  in  accordance  either  with  his  con- 
struction or  his  manuscript.  I  believe  that  Shake- 
speare wrote  every  play  in  five  Acts.  These 
variations  are  manifestly  mistakes  made  by  the  edi- 
tors and  printers  of  the  first  Folio.' 

There  are  one-Act  plays.  These  are  miniature 
dramas.  There  are  also  plays  which  have  two  or 
three  or  four  Acts.  Such  are  imperfect.  Every 
drama  which  is  properly  constructed  has  five  parts, 
— Introduction,  Growth,  Climax,  Fall,  Catastrophe, 
— each  one  of  which  is  coterminous  with  an  Act. 

The  separation  or  disjunction  of  the  Acts,  so  far 
as  the  action  of  the  drama  is  concerned,  is  not  real, 
but  imaginary.  The  time  supposed  to  elapse 
between  the  Acts  is  simply  a   period  of  repose,  a 

1  Cf.   my  monograph,   "  The   Division  of  the   Plays  into  Acts," 
Wtrntr't  Magazine,  April,  1894,  p.  137,  seq. 


32 


Shakespeare's  Plots 


resting-place  for  the  mind  and  emotions  of  the 
spectator.  The  curtain  falls.  The  action  tempo- 
rarily stops.  The  tension  on  the  thought  and  feel- 
ings of  the  spectator  is  for  a  time  relieved.  A 
drama  is  not  a  series  of  five  disconnected  Acts,  each 
being  subdivided  into  disjointed  and  fragmentary 
Scenes.  It  is  an  organic  whole.  The  different 
Scenes  and  Acts  must  be  interdependent  like  links 
in  a  chain,  stones  in  an  arch,  or  like  the  different 
parts  of  the  human  body,  head,  trunk,  limbs — sep- 
arate parts,  having  separate  functions,  yet  all  in 
vital  union  with  the  heart,  and  with  each  other,  and 
all  together  constituting  a  human  being. 

In  a  drama  each  Act,  each  Scene,  must  follow  the 
preceding  one  naturally,  and  must  lead  naturally  to 
those  which  follow.  Each  Act,  each  Scene  must  also 
follow  the  preceding  one  necessarily,  and  must  lead 
inevitably  to  those  which  follow.  There  must  be 
all  through  the  drama  a  note  of  the  inevitable. 

FORM  OF  A  DRAMA 

A  drama  is  written,  not  in  the  form  of  a  triangle, 
but  in  that  of  an  arch: 


Climax,  Act  III. 


Growth 
Act  II 


Fall, 
Act  IV. 


The  reason  of  this  is,  the  curve  is  the  line  of  beauty. 


A  Drama  —  Nature  and  Laws      33 

Beauty  has  both  a  physical  and  a  psychical  basis. 
Sights,  sounds,  are  only  beautiful  when  they  har- 
monize so  perfectly  with  the  nerves  of  vision  or 
hearing  that  they  do  not  strain  or  jar  them.  A  per- 
fectly round  stone  dropped  into  a  pool  of  water 
causes  a  series  of  round  waves  which  are  beautiful. 
On  the  other  hand,  if  the  stone  is  angular,  jagged, 
the  waves  are  irregular,  therefore  not  beautiful.  If 
a  perfectly  constructed  bell  is  struck  with  a  ham- 
mer, there  result  sound-waves  which  are  circular, 
undulatory,  and,  therefore,  beautiful.  If  the  bell  is 
cracked,  the  sound-waves  are  not  circular, —  are 
therefore  inharmonious.  The  reason  is,  in  the  one 
case,  the  waves  of  water,  of  sound,  do  not  strain  or 
jar,  but,  on  the  contrary,  are  harmonious  with,  the 
nerves  of  vision,  of  hearing.  In  the  other  case  it  is 
the  reverse.  The  ideal  art  figure  is  the  human 
body.  In  it  there  are  no  angles.  Such  is  the 
physical  basis  of  beauty. 

Beauty  has  also  a  psychical  basis.  Any  work  of 
art  to  be  beautiful  must  be  in  harmony  with  the  in- 
tellectual, emotional,  ethical  nature  of  man.  Hence 
a  work  of  art  of  the  first  order,  being  in  harmony 
with  the  psychical  nature  of  man,  always  causes  de- 

light.' 

^/introduction 

The  Introduction  includes  all  that  part  of  the 
drama  which  precedes  the  beginning  of  the  action. 

1  Cf.  Raymond,  Art  in  Theory,  p.  iGt,  seq.,  also  Appendix  ; 
Brown,  The  Fine  Arts,  p  189,  seq. ;  Grant  Allen,  The  Color  Sense, 
p.  19,  seq.,  also  Physiological  ^Esthetics,  p.  143,  seq.;  Sully,  The 
Human  Mind,  p.  117,  jeq.;  Lowell,  ersay,  Kousseau  ana"  the  Senti- 
mentalists. 


34  Shakespeare's  Plots 

It  is  not  a  part  of  the  action  itself.     It  is  introduc- 
tory to  that. 

Sometimes  the  Introduction  is  an  action,  e.  g.% 
Romeo  and  Juliet,  but  it  is  not  the  action  of  the 
drama.  It  precedes  that,  and  is  the  cause  thereof. 
The  action  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  begins  when  Romeo, 
Mercutio,  and  their  friends  start  to  go  to  the  ball  at 
the  Capulets'.  The  quarrel  between  the  servants, 
retainers,  members,  of  the  rival  houses  of  Montagu 
and  Capulet,  with  which  the  play  begins,  precedes 
that,  and  its  dramatic  purpose  is  to  prepare  for  and 
introduce  the  action  of  the  drama. 

The  function  of  the  Introduction  is  threefold: 
.  I.— In  it  the  dramatist  must  give  the  spectators  all 
necessary  information  as  to  the  causes  of  the  action. 
Events  which  have  occurred  antecedent  to  the  ac- 
tion of  the  drama,  and  have  been  the  cause  of  it, 
must  be  narrated  in  the  Introduction.'  Lacking  this 
information  the  spectator  cannot  have  an  intelligent 
and  vivid  comprehension  of  the  action  itself,  which 
follows. 

An  example  of  this  is  the  Introduction  to  the 
Merchant  of  Venice  {I.,  I,  2).  In  Scene  I,  Bassanio 
gives  a  detailed  description  of  Portia,  of  his  love  for 
her,  of  his  desire  to  woo  her.  In  Scene  2  Portia  de- 
scribes her  lovers,  amongst  whom  is  Bassanio. 

*In  Hamlet  (I.,  5)  the  Ghost  tells  Hamlet  of  the 
murder,  how,  when,  where,  it  was  committed. 

Sometimes  this   information  is  conveyed  to  the 
spectators  by  means  of  a  Prologue.     Shakespeare 
generally  uses  this  method  in  his  historical  plays. 
*■  In  the  Introduction  most  generally,  though  not 


A  Drama  —  Nature  and  Laws       35 

always,  all  of  the  principal  characters  appear.  If 
they  are  not  brought  forward  in  person  a  reference 
is  made  to  them,  a  description  is  given  of  them  by 
one  of  the  other  actors.-"  By  this  means  the  drama- 
t  is  persona  quickly  and  vividly  reveal  their  salient 
traits,  and  the  spectators  become  acquainted  with 
them. 

II. — Not  only  must  the  spectator's  intelligence  be 
appealed  to   in  the   Introduction,   his  feelings  also 
must    be    touched,  excited.    'The    dramatist    must 
strike    the    chord    of   emotion    that   is   to   vibrate, 
through  the  play,  like  the  motif  in  a  symphony/ 

The  Merchant  of  Venice  is  a  comedy,  with  a  tragic 
undertone.  Shakespeare  in  the  Introduction  gives 
expression  to  both  the  serious,  sombre,  and  the 
happy.  Antonio,  who  has  a  presentiment  of  com- 
ing trouble,  is  sad.  Grouped  around  him  are  Sala- 
rino,  Salanio,  Gratiano,  Lorenzo,  Bassanio,  the 
young  gallants  of  Venice.  They  are  jolly,  careless, 
happy.  They  attempt  to  diagnose  Antonio's  sad- 
ness, and  the  result  is: 

Then  let  us  say  you  're  sad 
Because  you  are  not  merry;  and  't  were  as  easy 
For  you  to  laugh  and  leap,  and  say  you  're  merry 
Because  you  are  not  sad. 

In  the  second  Scene  Portia  appears,  aweary  of  this 
great  world.  She  then  gives  an  amusing  description 
of  her  wooers. 

Shakespeare,  in  these  opening  Scenes,  touches  the 
emotional    chords  of    the  merry  and    the  sad,  and 


36  Shakespeare's  Plots 

these  chords  vibrate  through  the  drama,  the  former 
being  dominant. 

0  Hamlet  is  to  the  last  degree  tragic.  The  cause  of 
the  action  is  a  murder  which  was  peculiarly  atro- 
cious. The  emotional  disturbance  which  fills  the 
soul  of  the  hero  of  the  drama  is  foreshadowed  by 
Shakespeare  in  a  manner  which  is  highly  artistic, 
and  absolutely  unique.  Francisco,  a  sentinel,  is  on 
duty.  It  is  midnight,  and  very  cold.  To  him 
enters  Bernardo,  another  soldier,  who  is  to  relieve 
him.  Before  Francisco,  the  sentinel  on  guard,  has 
time  to  challenge  him,  Bernardo  says :  Who  '  s  there  ? 
Francisco  responds :  Nay,  ansiver  me ;  stand  and 
unfold  yourself.  This_is  unique.  In  all  military 
nations,  in  all  ages,  the  sentinel  on  guard  always 
challenges  the  newcomer.  Here  Shakespeare  re- 
verses this  universal  custom,  and  makes  the  soldier 
who  is  to  relieve  the  sentinel  on  duty  utter  the  chal- 
lenge. By  so  doing  Shakespeare  expresses  the  ex- 
citement and  dread  which  fill  the  soul  of  Hamlet, 
and  also  pervade  the  kingdom  of  Denmark.  But 
a  moment  later  the  same  emotional  chord  is  again 
touched,  this  time  by  Francisco.  Francisco's  watch 
has  expired.  He  gives  place  to  Bernardo.  As  he 
does  so  he  says : 

For  this  relief  much  thanks;  't  is  bitter  cold, 
And  I  am  sick  at  heart. 

This  is  the  keynote  of  the  drama.     Shakespeare 
tthus  in  the  very  opening  lines  strikes  it. 

Romeo  and  Juliet  is  a  tragedy  in  which  murderous 
hate,  undying  love,  are  inextricably  mixed.     During 


A  Drama — Nature  and  Laws      37 

the  progress  of  the  action  six  persons,  including  the 
hero  and  the  heroine,  meet  with  violent  deaths.  It 
ends  in  a  charnel-house.  The  play  begins  with  a 
quarrel,  at  first  droll,  later  serious,  in  which  the 
servants,  then  the  partisans,  later,  the  heads  of  the 
rival  houses  of  Montagu  and  Capulet,  take  part. 

Both  the  chords  of  love  and  hate  are  touched  by 
Romeo,  when,  seeing  the  evidences  of  this  disturb- 
ance, he  says : 

What  fray  was  here  ? 
Yet  tell  me  not,  for  I  have  heard  it  all. 
Here  's  much  to  do  with  hate,  but  more  with  love. 
Why,  then,  O  brawling  love!     O  loving  hate! 

Both  chords  are  again  touched  by  Juliet,  when, 
after  meeting  and  falling  in  love  with  Romeo,  she 
learns  he  is  a  Montague : 

My  only  love  sprung  from  my  only  hate! 
Too  early  seen  unknown,  and  known  too  late! 
Prodigious  birth  of  love  it  is  to  me, 
That  I  must  love  a  loathed  enemy. 

Love  and  hate,  both  of  which  are  tumultuous, 
fiery,  passionate,  permeate  the  tragedy.  Both  are 
appealed  to  in  the  Introduction. 

In  Tivclfth  Night  Shakespeare  portrays  the  mas- 
ter passion.  Most  of  the  characters  in  the  play,  at 
one  time  or  another,  are  in  love,  or  at  least  think 
they  are.  Shakespeare  touches  this  chord  in  the 
first  words  uttered  by  the  love-sick  Duke: 

If  music  be  the  food  of  love,  play  on: 


38  Shakespeare's  Plots 

III. —The  Introduction  must  not  only  be  reminis- 
cent, it  must  also  be  prescient.  It  must  not  only  give 
all  necessary  information  as  to  events  which  have 
caused  the  action  of  the  drama,  it  must  also  fore- 
shadow, perfectly  and  lucidly,  that  action.*  The 
Main  Action  of  Twelfth  Night  is  Viola's  effort  to 
win  Olivia  for  the  Duke.  At  the  beginning  of  the 
action  Viola  herself  loses  her  heart  with  her  ducal 
master.  Eventually  she  marries  him.  This  con- 
clusion of  the  action  of  the  drama  is  foreshadowed 
in  the  Introduction  by  Viola's  aside  : 

I  '11  do  my  best 
To  woo  your  lady. — Yet,  a  barful  strife! 
Whoe'er  I  woo,  myself  would  be  his  wife. 

Other  similar  examples  are  .  Merchant  of  Venice, 
I.,  i,  119,  sea.  ;  I.,  2,  123,  seq.  ;  Othello,  I.,  3,  389, 
seq.  ;  Julius  Casar,  I.,  3,  Richard  III. ,  I.,  1,  1-41. 

The  Introduction  is  the  foundation  of  the  play. 
As  the  architect  must  have  his  plans  elaborated  and 
perfected  before  the  first  spadeful  of  earth  is  dug  for 
the  foundations  of  his  building,  so  must  the  dramatist 
have  his  Plot,  which  is  simply  his  plan,  his  design, 
elaborated  and  perfected,  before  he  begins  to  write 
his  drama  Before  he  writes  the  first  line  of  his  In- 
troduction he  must  know  exactly  how  his  play  is  to 
end.  He  must  have  what  Pater  describes  as:  'That 
architectural  conception  of  a  work  which  foresees 
the  end  from  the  beginning,  and  never  loses  sight 
of  it,  and  in  every  part  is  conscious  of  all  the  rest, 
till  the  very  last  sentence  does  but,  with  undimin- 


A  Drama  —  Nature  and  Laws      39 

ished  vigor,  unfold  and  justify  the  first."  '  In  a 
word,  all  the  causes,  motives,  possibilities  of  a  play 
lie  in  the  Introduction.     It,  potentially,  is  the  play. 

GROWTH 

«The  Growth,  the  second  division  of  the  drama, 
begins  with  the  commencement  of  the  action.  The 
Introduction  is  narrative,  expository,  or  if  it  con 
sists  of  an  action,  e.  g.,  Romeo  and  Juliet,  Julius 
Casar,  it  is  not  the  action  of  the  drama,  but  pre- 
cedes this,  and  is  a  cause  thereof/  The  action  of 
Romeo  and  Juliet,  as  I  have  said,  begins  when 
Romeo,  Mercutio,  and  their  friends  start  to  go  to 
the  ball  at  old  Capulet's  house.  There  Romeo  sees 
and  falls  in  love  with  Juliet,  and  she  with  him.  The 
Main  Action  of  Julius  Cczsar  is  the  assassination  of 
Caesar,  its  causes,  consummation,  consequences. 
The  quarrel  between  the  Tribunes,  Flavius  and 
Marullus,  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  Citizens  on  the 
other,  precedes  the  action  of  the  drama.  That  be- 
gins with  Brutus'  decision,  It  must  be  by  his 
(Caesar's)  death,  which  is  followed  immediately  by 
Brutus'  determination  to  join  the  conspiracy. 

The  Growth  calls  for  the  greatest  constructive 
skill  on  the  part  of  the  poet.  Two  errors  in  con- 
struction jeopardize  the  poet's  success  in  writing 
this  part  of  the  play.  The  greater  one  is  making 
the  action  of  the  drama  move  too  rapidly.  A  flash 
of  lightning  blinds.  Sudden  and  excessive  sound 
deafens.     Similarly  if  the  action  in  this  part  of  the 

'  SiyU. 


40  Shakespeare's  Plots 

drama  moves  too  rapidly  the  Climax  is  reached  too 
soon.  The  result  is  an  anti-climax.  The  mind  and 
emotions  of  the  spectator  not  having  been  gradually 
prepared,  the  desired  effect  is  not  produced.  The 
great  dramatic  poet,  says  Horace,' 

.     .     .     does  not  lavish  at  a  blaze  his  fire, 
Sudden  to  glare,  and  in  a  smoke  expire. 

As  in  a  picture  there  are  light  and  shade,  in  a 
musical  composition  crescendo  and  diminuendo,  so 
in  a  drama  action  must  be  graduated.  "  The  ar- 
tist," says  Schiller,  referring  to  the  dramatic  artist, 
"  advances  step  by  step  to  his  end;  he  strikes  only 
with  measured  strokes,  but  he  permeates  to  the 
depths  of  our  souls  precisely  because  he  has  stirred 
them  only  by  degrees."'  'The  movement  of  the 
action  in  the  Growth  or  second  division  of  the 
drama  must  be,  not  sudden  or  rapid,  but  slow, 
gradual.  • 

And  yet  not  too  slow.  This  is  the  second  danger 
against  which  the  poet  must  guard.  If  the  action 
moves  too  slowly  the  spectator's  interest  is  wearied, 
exhausted.  That  interest  must  be  not  only  awak- 
ened and  stimulated,  but,  as  the  action  progresses, 
it  must  also  be  intensified. 

'The  greater  danger,  however,  is  that  of  making 
the  action  move  too  rapidly.  To  avert  that  the 
dramatist  makes  use  of 

I. — Subsidiary  Actions. 

II. — Episodes. 

1  Ars  Poetica. 

1  sEsthetical  Essays,  translated  by  John  D.  Williams,  p.  362. 


A  Drama  —  Nature  and  Laws      4 1 

When  the  former  of  these  is  employed  the  Main 
Action  temporarily  ceases  movement.*  An  example 
is  the  negotiations  between  Bassanio  and  Antonio 
on  the  one  hand,  and  Shylock  on  the  other,  for  the 
loan  {Merchant  of  Venice,  I.,  3).  This  is  a  Sub-Ac- 
tion. The  Main  Action  of  the  drama,  the  wooing 
of  Portia  by  Bassanio,  and  its  consequences,  does 
not  begin  until  after  these  negotiations  are  com- 
pleted. 

"The  function  of  the  Episode  in  a  drama  is  to  stop, 
temporarily,  the  progress  of  the  action.  '  It  is  deter- 
rent. Its  effect  on  the  drama  is  similar  to  that  of  a 
dam  on  a  stream  of  water.  The  current  is  checked, 
arrested,  in  order  that,  later,  it  may  flow  again  with 
greater  rapidity,  increased  volume,  augmented  force. 
An  Episode  in  a  drama  has  a  similar  effect.  It  arrests 
the  movement  of  the  action,  with  the  ultimate  re- 
sult of  adding  increased  force  and  intensity  to  that 
movement  when  it  is  resumed. J 

An  example  of  the  Episode  introduced  into  the 
Growth  by  the  poet,  to  prevent  too  rapid  movement 
of  the  action,  is  Mercutio's  description  of  Queen 
Mab  {Romeo  and  Juliet,  I.,  4).  Romeo,  Mercutio, 
Benvolio,  and  the  maskers  had  just  started  for  the 
ball  at  the  Capulets.  In  order  that  the  action  may 
not  progress  too  rapidly  and  the  Climax  be  reached 
too  soon,  the  result  of  which  would  be  an  anti- 
climax, Shakespeare  introduces  this  Queen  Mab  Epi- 
sode. While  Mercutio  is  reciting  this  description 
of  the  fairies'  midwife,  one  of  the  most  perfect  speci- 
mens of  imaginative  poetry  in  all  literature,  the  ac- 
tion of  the  drama  is  stayed. 


42  Shakespeare's  Plots 

The  use  of  Sub-Actions  and  Episodes  is  not  by 
any  means  restricted  to  the  Growth.  They  are  em- 
ployed also  in  the  Climax,  Fall,  and  Catastrophe. 
In  each  of  these  divisions  of  the  play  their  function 
is  the  same  as  in  the  Growth. 

In  constructing  the  latter  the  skilful  dramatist  fol- 
lows the  advice  that  Friar  Laurence  gave  to  Romeo : 

Wisely  and  slow;  they  stumble  that  run  fast. 

In  doing  so  his  most  effective  means  are  Sub- 
Actions  and  Episodes. 

CLIMAX 

The  Climax  is  the  meeting-point  of  all  the  Com- 
plicating and  Resolving  forces  in  the  drama.  All 
previous  to  that  tends  to  involution.  The  hero  be- 
comes more  and  more  entangled  in  difficulties.  In 
the  Climax  those  difficulties  reach  their  highest  de- 
velopment. All  following  the  Climax  tends  to  reso- 
lution. 

Aristotle  compares  the  action  of  a  drama  to  the 
tying  and  untying  of  a  knot.  In  the  Climax  the 
dramatic  knot  is  perfectly  tied.  All  previous  to 
that  is  the  desis,  the  tying  of  the  knot.  All  follow- 
ing that  is  the  lusis,  the  untying. 

The  Climax  is  the  end  of  the  beginning  of  the 
action  and  the  beginning  of  the  end. 

It  is  the  crest  of  the  dramatic  arch,  up  to  which 
the  action  has  moved ;  from  which  that  action, 
changing  its  direction,  moves  down  to  the  conclu- 
sion of  the  play.' 

1  Cf.  Diagram,  p   32. 


A  Drama  —  Nature  and  Laws      43 

In  the  Climax  there  is  great  concentration,  and 
as  a  result  thereof  great  intensity.  The  waters  of  a 
river  have  been  flowing  placidly  over  a  broad  sur- 
face. Suddenly  they  reach  a  deep  and  narrow 
gorge,  and  through  it  they  sweep  and  rush  tumul- 
tuously,  and  with  loud  roar.  So  in  the  Climax  of  a 
drama,  the  thoughts  and  emotions  of  the  hero  are 
concentrated,  and  as  a  result  thereof  are  stirred  to 
their  profoundest  depths. 

Profound  emotion  transforms.  It  goes  to  the  very 
root  and  essence  of  our  being.  Othello's  love 
changes  to  hate.  The  devoted  lover  and  husband 
becomes  the  stern,  relentless  minister  of  justice. 

Profound  emotion  also  reveals.  '  Physicians,  to 
make  some  small  veins  in  their  patients'  arms  plump 
and  full,  that  they  may  see  them  the  better  to  let 
them  blood,  used  to  put  them  into  hot  water;  so  the 
heat  of  passion  presenteth  many  invisible  veins  in 
men's  hearts  to  the  eye  of  the  beholder. "  '  By 
means  of  overmastering  feeling  the  abysmal  deeps 
of  personality  are  revealed. 

Shakespeare,  therefore,  in  this  division  of  the 
play,  always  places  his  hero  in  a  grave  emotional 
crisis,  when  he  is  under  the  stress  and  strain  of 
some  powerful  and  overmastering  feeling.1  It  may 
be  love  or  hate;  sorrow,  joy,  fear,  despair.  The  soul 
is  stirred  to  its  profoundest  depth.  When  in  that 
condition  the  hero  is  compelled  to  make  a  decision 

1  Thomas  Fuller. 

•  "  Neither  Will  nor  Intellect  could  be  present  in  the  absence  of 
Feeling  ;  and  Feeling  manifested  in  its  completeness  carries  with  it , 
the  germs  of  the  other  two." — Bain,  Mind  and  Body,  p.  44. 


44  Shakespeare's  Plots 

on  which  hinges  his  fate.      That  crisis  in  the  life 
of  the  hero  is  the  Climax  of  the  drama. 

Othello  is  finally  convinced  that  Desdemona  has 
been  unfaithful,  and  that  Cassio  has  been  her  para- 
mour.  He  orders  Iago  to  kill  Cassio.  He  reserves 
to  himself  the  duty  of  wreaking  vengeance  on  his 
wife.  This  command  and  this  decision  are  the 
acme  of  the  Climax. 

The  prediction  of  the  Weird-Sisters  to  Banquo 
fills  Macbeth  with  apprehension  and  disquietude 
that  develop  into  a  dread  that  is  unendurable.  He 
determines  to  murder  Banquo  and  his  son  Fleance. 
The  murder  of  Banquo,  the  escape  of  Fleance,  is 
the  acme  of  the  Climax. 

Bassanio's  fate  hangs  on  the  choice  of  the  casket. 
Portia,  who  fears  an  unsuccessful  choice,  begs  him 
to  delay.  His  love  is  so  intense  he'  can  wait  no 
longer. 

Let  me'choose, 
For  as  I  am,  I  live  upon  the  rack. 

Propelled  by  his  overmastering  emotion  he  selects 
the  casket  which  decides  not  only  his  own  fate,  but 
also  that  of  Portia,  Nerissa,  Gratiano  This  choice 
is  the  acme  of  the  Climax 

The  same  statement  is  true  of  the  other  dramas 
When  under  the  stress  of  some  intense  emotion  the 
hero  makes  a  decision  which  decides  his  fate.     This 
decision  is  the  acme  of  the  Climax 

One  of  the  current  errors  in  reference  to  Dramatic 
Construction  is  that  the  Climax  of  a  drama  is  at  the 
end.     In  a  perfectly  constructed  play  the  Climax  is 


A  Drama — Nature  and  Laws      45 

Act  III.  Shakespeare  almost  always  places  it  there. 
The  acme  of  the  Climax  in  his  plays  is  generally  at 
the  very  centre  of  the  play,  that  is,  the  middle  Scene 
of  Act  III. 

In  Macbeth  it  is  Act  III.,  Scene  3,  the  murder  of 
Banquo,  the  escape  of  Fleance.  In  Julius  Cccsar  it 
is  Act  III.,  Scene  1.  Caesar  has  been  murdered. 
The  conspirators  are  grouped  around  the  dead 
body.  A  Servant  enters.  He  is  sent  by  Antony, 
and  is,  dramatically,  the  representative  of  the 
avengers.  Thus  around  this  bloody  corpse  the  con- 
spirators and  avengers  meet.  In  Hamlet,  the  play 
(III.,  2)  in  which  is  revealed  the  guilt  of  the  King 
is  the  crest  of  the  dramatic  arch.  In  the  Merchant 
of  Venice  the  casket-scene  in  which  Bassanio  makes 
the  successful  choice  of  the  casket  is  Act  III., 
Scene  2.  In  Romeo  and  Juliet  it  is  the  final  parting 
of  the  lovers  (III.,  5). 

In  all  these  cases,  and,  in  fact,  in  all  the  Shake- 
speare plays,  the  Climax  is  at,  or  very  near,  the 
centre  of  the  drama. 

FALL 

Ben  Jonson  was  perfectly  familiar,  both  theoreti- 
cally and  practically,  with  the  principles  underlying 
the  construction  of  a  drama.     He  writes: 

Now,  in  every  action  it  behooves  the  poet  to  know 
which  is  his  utmost  bound,  how  far,  with  fitness  and  a 
necessary  proportion,  he  may  produce  and  determine  it; 
that  is,  till  either  good  fortune  change  into  the  worse,  or 
the  worse  into  the  better.  For  as  a  body  without  pro- 
portion cannot  be  goodly,  no  more  can  the  action,  either 


46  Shakespeare's  Plots 

in  comedy  or  tragedy,  without  his  fit  bounds;  and  every 
bound,  for  the  nature  of  the  subject,  is  esteemed  the  best 
that  is  largest,  till  it  can  increase  no  more,  so  it  behooves 
the  action  in  tragedy  or  comedy  to  be  let  grow  till  the 
necessity  ask  a  conclusion.1 

In  other  words,  the  action  must  grow  until  it 
reaches  a  Climax,  and  then  the  Fall  and  Catas- 
trophe, which  constitute  the  concluding  parts  of  the 
drama,  will  follow,  not  only  naturally,  but  also 
necessarily. 

The  Fall  is  the  commencement  of  the  second  part 
of  the  action.  It  is  the  beginning  of  Aristotle's 
lusts,  the  untying  of  the  dramatic  knot,  the  unravel- 
ling of  the  Plot.  It  calls  for  the  surest  exercise  of 
the  dramatist's  skill.  The  Climax  has  concentrated 
the  interest.  The  Fall  must  not  mar  or  dissipate 
this  interest.  To  avert  this  danger,  the  progress  of 
the  action  from  the  Climax  to  the  Fall  must  not  be 
sudden  or  abrupt.  In  this  respect  Art  conforms  to 
Nature. 

In  listening  to  a  bird  singing,  to  a  wind  whistling,  or 
to  a  surf  breaking,  we  usually  notice  a  gradual  increase 
and  decrease  in  the  blended  sounds.  It  is  the  same 
when  observing  color.  A  clear  sky  at  dawn  or  sunset 
exhibits  between  the  horizon  and  the  zenith  every  color 
of  the  spectrum  from  red  to  purple,  yet  no  boundary  line 
between  any  two  colors.  The  same  fact  of  gradation  is 
observable  also  in  outlines.  Think  of  the  innumerable 
curves  and  angles  and  straight  lines  that  make  up  the 
contour  of  every  mountain,    tree,    bush,    fruit,    flower, 

1  GifforJ's  Edition  of  Jonsoris  Works,  edited  by  Cunningham, 
vul.  iii.,  p.  424. 


A  Drama — Nature  and  Laws       47 

bird,  beast,  and  man;  yet  often  not  even  with  a  micro- 
scope can  one  tell  just  where  one  form  of  line  ceases 
and  another  begins.' 

It  is  universally  conceded  that  the  line  of  beauty 
is  the  curve.  "  All  perfectly  beautiful  forms  must 
be  composed  of  curves,  since  there  is  hardly  any 
common  natural  form  in  which  it  is  possible  to  dis- 
cover a  straight  line."  '  To  this  dictum  of  Ruskin 
I  add  Emerson's  verses: 

For  nature  beats  in  perfect  tune, 

And  rounds  with  rhyme  her  every  rune, 

Whether  she  work  in  land  or  sea, 

Or  hide  underground  her  alchemy. 

Thou  canst  not  wave  thy  staff  in  air, 

Or  dip  thy  paddle  in  the  lake, 

But  it  carves  the  bow  of  beauty  there, 

And  the  ripples  in  rhymes  the  oar  forsake.' 

And  yet  there  is  abruptness  in  Nature,  e.  g.,  the 
flash  of  lightning,  the  crash  of  thunder,  the  shriek 
of  pain,  the  cry  of  horror.  Strictly  speaking,  these 
all  happen  in  the  ordinary  course  of  Nature,  yet  they 
occur  so  seldom,  are  so  exceptional,  as  to  be  almost 
irregular,  anomalous,  eccentric,  out  of  the  normal. 
The  proposition  remains  true  that  in  Nature  all 
changes,  whether  of  color  or  sound  or  shape,  are 
graduated.  Similarly,  in  a  work  of  art,  all  changes 
must  be  graduated.     Applying  this  to  the  subject 

'  Raymond,  Genesis  of  Art-Form,  pp.  268,  269. 

•  Seven  Lamps  of  Architecture,  p.  89;  Cf.  Modern  Painters,  vol. 
iv.,  chap.  xvii. 

•  rVoodnotes,  part  11.,  p.  53. 


48  Shakespeare's  Plots 

under  consideration,  we  find  in  the  perfect  drama 
all  transitions,  e.  g.,  entrance  or  exit  of  characters, 
changes  from  Main  to  Sub-Action,  or  vice  versa, 
progress  from  one  Scene  or  Act  to  another,  all 
must  be,  not  unexpected,  sudden,  abrupt,  but 
gradual  and  foreshadowed.  Only  thus  is  the  unity 
of  all  parts  -of  the  play  preserved.* 

Judging  the  Shakespeare  plays  by  this  test,  we 
find  they  are  in  perfect  accord  with  Nature.  In 
them  the  poet  in 

Every  line     .     .     . 
Opens,  by  just  degrees,  his  whole  design.1 

One  of  their  cardinal  qualities,  as  Coleridge  has 
pointed  out,  is 

expectation  in  preference  to  surprise.  It  is  like  the  true 
reading  of  the  passage,  "  God  said,  Let  there  be  light, 
and  there  was  light" \  not  there  was  light.  As  the  feel- 
ing with  which  we  startle  at  a  shooting  star,  compared 
with  that  of  watching  the  sunrise  at  the  pre-established 
moment,  such  and  so  low  is  surprise  compared  with 
expectation." 

In  the  Fall  Complication  gives  way  to  Resolu- 
tion. Feeling,  passion,  now  changes  from  strain  to 
reaction.  Every  word,  every  deed,  in  the  Fall  is  the 
result  of  what  has  taken  place  in  the  Growth  and 
Climax.  It  also  foreshadows  what  is  to  occur  in 
the  Catastrophe.  ■  From  the  beginning  of  the  Fall 
every  detail  must  point  to  the  close  of  the  drama, 
and  prepare  the  mind  of  the  spectator  for  that  close. 

1  Horace,  Ars  Poetica. 

8  Lecturts  on  Shakespeare \  Bohn's  edition,  p.  237. 


A  Drama — Nature  and  Laws        49 

The  Climax,  as  I  have  said,  has  concentrated  the 
interest  of  the  spectator.  His  mental  and  emo- 
tional strain  has  been  intensified  to  the  highest  de- 
cree. In  order  to  prevent  that  strain  from  becoming 
oppressive  the  Fall  of  a  drama  is  always  episodic. 
During  it  the  action  of  the  drama  temporarily  ceases 
movement.  ■  33_-     J  VM2 

In  human  life  there  are  and  mu  periods  of 

repose.  Day  gives  place  to  night.  Activity,  physi- 
cal, mental,  emotional,  is  suspended  by  rest  and 
sleep.  Similarly  in  a  work  of  musical  or  dramatic 
Art  action  is  followed  by  rest.     Mozart  was  asked, 

What  produces  the  most  effect  in  music  ?  "  He 
replied,  "  No  music."  In  a  drama  there  must  be 
times  during  which  the  movement  of  the  action  is 
temporarily  stayed.  ""Such  a  period  is  the  Fall, 
which  is  always  more  or  less  episodic.  Its  function 
is  twofold : 

I. — To  furnish  a  needed  rest  to  the  overwrought 
emotions  and  thoughts  of  the  spectators. 

II. — To  foreshadow  and  prepare  for  the  Catas- 
trophe, the  conclusion  of  the  play. 

In  Macbeth  the  Fall  is  III.,  5,  to  IV.,  finis.  It 
is  devoted  to  a  narration  of  Macbeth's  second  inter- 
view with  the  Witches,  to  the  interview  of  Macduff 
with  Malcolm,  in  England,  and  to  a  portrayal  of 
the  slaughter  of  Macduff's  wife,  children,  servants. 
The  latter  is  the  only  action  in  it.  The  remainder 
is  episodic,  preparatory. 

The  same  is  true  of  Julius  Casar,  Othello,  and  all 
the  plays.  In  the  Fall  the  action  more  or  less 
ceases  movement,  and   in   it  every  preparation   is 


50  Shakespeare's  Plots 

made  for  the  conclusion  of  the  action  in  the  Catas- 
trophe. 

CATASTROPHE 

This  word,  when  used  in  dramatic  criticism,  does 
not  necessarily  mean  disaster.  It  may  mean  that, 
it  may  mean  the  reverse.  It  is  derived  from  two 
Greek  words,  kata,  down,  and  strepho,  strephein,  to 
turn.  It  means  to  turn  up  and  down,  to  overturn. 
When  used  in  dramatic  criticism  it  describes  the 
final  event  in  a  drama,  e.  g.t  a  death  in  a  tragedy,  a 
marriage  in  a  comedy,  to  produce  which  there  has 
been  an  overturning,  a  change  in  the  direction  of 
the  Main  Action. 

The  Catastrophe  must  be: 

I. — Organic.  It  must  be  not  forced  or  artificial, 
but  the  natural  result,  the  inevitable  consequence 
of  the  Main  Action.  It  must  be  in  living,  vital 
union  with  all  the  previous  parts  of  the  play,  and 
must  be  the  outgrowth  of  them.  Its  relation  to 
them  is  similar  to  that  of  the  flower  to  the  bush, 
the  fruit  to  the  tree.  It  depicts  the  recoil  upon  the 
hero  of  his  own  deed.  It  portrays  the  fate  of  the 
actors  in  the  drama,  which  fate  is  the  outgrowth  of 
their  own  characters  and  conduct. 

II. — Rapid  in  movement.  The  spectators  have 
been  thoroughly  prepared  for  it.  All  impediments 
to  progress  have  been  removed.  The  intense  men- 
tal and  emotional  strain,  a  pleased  expectancy  if  it 
be  a  comedy,  pity  and  fear  if  it  be  a  tragedy,  can 
be  continued  to  the  close  only  by  great  rapidity  of 
movement. 


A  Drama — Nature  and  Laws        51 

Mental  excitement,  profound,  concentrated  feel- 
ing, find  expression  in  language  which  is  concise,  in 
action  which  is  immediate.  Words,  therefore,  in  the 
Catastrophe  should  be  few;  speeches,  soliloquies, 
brief.  Action  and  that  swift,  continuous,  is  a  neces- 
sary quality,  a  prime  requisite  of  the  Catastrophe. 

III. — Yet  the  movement  should  not  be  abrupt,  or 
offensively  sudden.  There  should  be  no  surprises. 
No  new  characters  should  be  introduced.  The 
thoughts  and  emotions  of  the  spectators,  which 
have  been  stimulated  to  the  intensest  degree,  must 
not  be  diverted  into  other  channels.  As  the  end  of 
the  drama  is  approached  the  strain  may,  by  reac- 
tion, be  relieved.  That  relief,  however,  must  not 
be  either  unforeseen  or  unexpected.  This  attribute 
of  the  Catastrophe  necessitates  that  moderated  en- 
ergy in  the  action  which  results  in  perfect  gradation. 
The  unfoldment  of  the  Plot  in  this,  the  final  stage 
of  the  drama,  while  rapid,  must  be  as  regular  and 
gradual  as  the  sinking  of  the  sun  beneath  the  hori- 
zon at  the  close  of  day. 

The  Catastrophe  in  Macbeth  (V.)  is  Lady  Mac- 
beth's  remorse,  which  becomes  so  unendurable  that 
it  causes  insanity  and  suicide;  the  despair  of  Mac- 
beth, which  is  so  soon  followed  by  his  tragic  death 
at.  the  hands  of  Macduff.  The  Catastrophe  of 
Julius  Ccesar  is  the  defeat  of  Brutus  and  Cassius  at 
the  battle  of  Philippi,  and  their  deaths  by  suicide. 
That  of  the  Merchant  of  Venice  is  the  happy  mar- 
riages of  Bassanio  and  Portia,  Gratiano  and  Nerissa, 
Lorenzo  and  Jessica;  and  the  return,  safely  and 
richly  laden,  of  three  of  Antonio's  argosies. 


52  Shakespeare's  Plots 

To  produce  these  results  there  has  been  a  Kata- 
strophy,  an  overturning,  a  change  in  the  direction 
of  the  action. 

Many  features  of  the  subject,  some  of  them  im- 
portant, have  not  been  mentioned,  much  less  dis- 
cussed, in  this  chapter.  This  omission  is  intentional. 
It  was  not  my  purpose  to  do  more  than  consider  the 
subject  in  its  broadest  outlines,  and  only  to  the 
degree  necessary  to  make  the  studies  on  the  differ- 
ent plays  perfectly  intelligible. 

In  those  studies  the  construction  of  a  drama  in 
all  its  details  is  considered. 


CHAPTER  III 

MACBETH 
INTRODUCTION 

I.,   1-4 

THE  scene  of  this  drama  is  Scotland.  The  time 
is  the  eleventh  century.  At  that  time  in 
Scotland,  in  fact  in  all  the  nations  of  Northern  Eu- 
rope, the  belief  that  human  affairs  were  influenced 
by  supernatural  beings  such  as  witches,  ghosts,  was 
universal.  At  the  very  beginning  of  the  play  Shake- 
speare makes  use  of  this  fact  to  create  Local  Color. 
The  painter  who  would  place  tropical  fruits  in  an 
Arctic  environment  would  make  his  picture  absurd, 
inartistic.  If  Shakespeare  had  introduced  witches 
into  his  Roman  plays,  or  into  those  the  scene  of 
which  is  Italy,  the  Merchant  of  Venice  for  example, 
he  would  have  made  a  similar  mistake.  Everything 
in  a  drama  must  be  in  harmony  with  the  time  and 
place  in  which  the  action  of  the  play  occurs. 

In  accordance  with  this  canon  of  art  Shakespeare 
opens  this  play  with  the  meeting  of  the  Weird 
Sisters  on  the  barren  heath  in  Scotland.  This 
Scene  is  in  perfect  harmony  with  the  time  and 
place  in  which  Macbeth  and  Duncan  lived  and  died. 
By  means  of  it  Shakespeare  brings  the  spectator 

53 


54  Shakespeare's  Plots 

into  intellectual  sympathy  with  the  environment, 
thereby  creating  Local  Color  or  Atmosphere. 

Another  dramatic  purpose  effected  by  this  open- 
ing Scene  is,  the  emotional  chord  that  vibrates 
through  the  drama  is  touched.  This  play  is  a 
tragedy.     Its  subject  is 

the  fierce  dispute 
Betwixt  damnation  and  impassioned  clay.1 

It  portrays  the  struggle  in  the  soul  of  the  Macbeths; 
the  victory  of  evil;  the  ruin  and  death  which  result 
therefrom.  This  is  typified  by  this  opening  Scene, 
the  desert  place,  the  blasted  heath,  the  thunder, 
lightning,  rain,  the  unearthly  Witches.  It  is  all 
weird,  tragic,  and  prepares  the  emotions  of  the 
spectators  for  what  is  to  follow. 

The  Scene  performs  one  more  dramatic  function. 
It  introduces,  by  an  allusion  to  him,  Macbeth,  the 
hero  of  the  drama.  The  Witches  expect  to  meet 
him  When  the  battle  's  lost  and  won,  which  will  be 
ere  the  set  of  sun ,  upon  the  heath. 

This  Scene,  although  very  brief,  is  very  effective. 
In  Scene  2  Shakespeare  gives  a  description  of 
the  battle  of  which  the  Witches  have  just  spoken. 
Duncan,  his  sons  and  attendants,  are  in  camp  near 
Forres.  To  them  a  bleeding  Sergeant  comes,  doubt- 
less sent  by  Macbeth.  He  informs  the  King  of  the 
insurrection  of  the  merciless  Macdonwald ;  of  the  in- 
vasion of  Sweno,  King  of  Norway;  of  the  treachery 
of 

that  most  disloyal  traitor, 
The  thane  of  Cawdor. 

1  Keats,  Sonnet  on  Sitting  Down  to  read  Lear, 


Macbeth  55 

The  result  of  the  battle  was  the  victory  of  the 
loyal  troops  led  by  brave  Macbeth  and  Banquo. 
King  Duncan,  wishing  to  punish  the  thane  of  Caw- 
dor, and  to  reward  Macbeth,  says  to  Ross: 

No  more  that  thane  of  Cawdor  shall  deceive 

Our  bosom  interest:  go  pronounce  his  present  death, 

And  with  his  former  title  greet  Macbeth. 

In  this  Scene  Duncan  reveals  himself  as  weak, 
confiding,  unwarlike.  In  direct  contrast  to  him  is 
Macbeth,  Bellona  s  bridegroom,  who  is  energetic, 
fearless,  kingly. 

This  Scene,  like  the  former  one,  creates  a  tragic 
atmosphere.  The  Sergeant  is  a  bloody  man,  whose 
gashes  and  wounds  cry  for  help.  The  merciless  Mac- 
donwald  is  unseamed  .  .  .  from  the  nave  to  the  chaps, 
and  Macbeth  hath  fixed  his  head  upon  our  battle- 
ments. The  death  of  the  traitorous  thane  of  Caw- 
dor is  announced.  Rebellion,  invasion,  treason,  are 
described.  All  are  associated  with  carnage.  Thus 
the  tragic  chord  that  vibrates  through  the  drama 
is  again  touched,  and  the  spectators  are  thereby  ^ 
brought  into  emotional  sympathy  with  the  action  of 
the  play. 

In  Scene  1  Shakespeare  portrayed  the  supernat- 
ural. In  Scene  2,  the  natural,  the  human.  In 
Scene  3,  like  the  converging  branches  of  a  river,  the 
supernatural  and  the  natural  unite.  The  Witches 
appear  and  meet  the  victorious  generals  Macbeth 
and  Banquo.  At  the  conclusion  of  the  first  Scene 
the  Witches  in  unison  said : 

Fair  is  foul,  and  foul  is  fair. 


56  Shakespeare's  Plots 

The  first  words  Macbeth  utters  are  a  refrain  of 
these  words: 

So  foul  and  fair  a  day  I  have  not  seen. 

Thus   by  his  opening  words  Macbeth    reveals   his 
sympathy  with  these  Weird  Sisters. 
Banquo  describes  them  in  detail: 

What  are  these 
So  wither'd  and  so  wild  in  their  attire, 
That  look  not  like  the  inhabitants  o'  the  earth, 
And  yet  are  on  't  ?     Live  you  ?  or  are  you  aught 
That  man  may  question  ?     You  seem  to  understand  me, 
By  each  at  once  her  choppy  finger  laying 
Upon  her  skinny  lips;  you  should  be  women, 
And  yet  your  beards  forbid  me  to  interpret 
That  you  are  so. 

Macbeth  commands  them  to  speak.  They  obey, 
and  hail  him  as  thane  of  Glamis,  which  he  was  by 
birth;  as  thane  of  Cawdor,  which  he  has  just  be- 
come by  the  grace  of  his  sovereign ;  and  king  here- 
after. These  words,  as  Banquo  informs  us,  produce 
on  Macbeth  a  profound  effect.  Why  ?  In  Scot- 
land, at  that  time,  on  the  death  of  the  king,  if  his 
son  was  under  age,  a  near  relative  succeeded  to  the 
throne.  Malcolm  was  young.  Macbeth  was  the 
cousin  of  Duncan,  and,  as  he  thought  and  believed, 
his  legitimate  successor.  This  business,  as  he  later 
describes  it,  this  enterprise,  as  Lady  Macbeth  speaks 
of  it,  had  occupied  his  thoughts,  was  the  subject  of 
his  hopes. 

Was  the  hope  drunk 

Wherein  you  dress'd  yourself  ?  hath  it  slept  since  ? 


Macbeth  57 

And  wakes  it  now,  to  look  so  green  and  pale 
At  what  it  did  so  freely  ?     From  this  time 
Such  I  account  thy  love  ?     Art  thou  afeard 
To  be  the  same  in  thine  own  act  and  valour 
As  thou  art  in  desire  i     Wouldst  thou  have  that 
Which  thou  esteem'st  the  ornament  of  lite, 
And  live  a  coward  in  thine  own  esteem, 
Letting  "  I  dare  not  "  wait  upon  "  I  would," 
Like  the  poor  cat  i'  the  adage  ? 

Upon  it  Macbeth  and  his  wife,  his  dearest  partner 
of  greatness,  had  conferred. 

What  beast  was  't  then 
That  made  you  break  this  enterprise  to  me  t 

The  matter  had  in  fact  been  more  than  a  reflec- 
tion, a  subject  of  conference.  It  had  taken  the  form 
of  a  resolve,  supplemented  by  an  oath  to  carry  it 
into  execution.    Macbeth  had  sworn  to  carry  it  out. 

When  the  Witches,  therefore,  hailed  him  as  the 
one  that  shalt  be  king  hereafter  they  touched  a  re- 
sponsive chord  in  his  bosom.  They  revealed  to  him, 
as  in  a  glass,  his  overmastering  ambition,  his  wicked 
resolve.  So  unexpected,  so  true,  so  startling,  was 
the  revelation,  that  it  caused  him 

to  start,  and  seem  to  fear. 
In  response  to  Banquo's  prayer, 

Speak  then  to  me,  who  neither  beg  nor  fear 
Your  favours  nor  your  hate, 

they  predict  his  future: 


58  Shakespeare's  Plots 


Lesser  than  Macbeth,  and  greater. 

Not  so  happy,  yet  much  happier 

Thou  shalt  get  kings,  though  thou  be  none. 

They  say  no  more,  but  vanish 

Into  the  air; 
And  what  seem'd  corporal  melted 
As  breath  into  the  wind 

In  order  to  impress  the  predictions  on  the  minds 
of  the  spectators  of  the  drama  Macbeth  and  Banquo 
reiterate  them.  This  is  an  example  of  Repetition, 
Alteration,  Alternation. 

Immediately  after  the  Witches  vanish  Ross  and 
Angus  enter  with  a  message  of  thanks  from  the 
King  to  Macbeth,  and  by  command  of  the  King 
call  him  thane  of  Cawdor  He  was  by  birth  thane 
of  Glamis;  he  is  now  made  thane  of  Cawdor.  Two 
of  the  predictions  of  the  Witches  have  thereby 
been  quickly  fulfilled.  The  greatest,  Macbeth  says, 
is  behind.  Banquo,  unimpassioned,  thoughtful, 
loyal,  utters  a  warning: 

But  't  is  strange: 
And  oftentimes,  to  win  us  to  our  harm, 
The  instruments  of  darkness  tell  us  truths, 
Win  us  with  honest  trifles    to  betray  "s 
In  deepest  consequence 

Macbeth  is  so  rapt  that  Banquo's  warning  falls  on 
deaf  ears.  Like  Cassius'  threats  to  Brutus  they 
pass  by  him  as  the  idle  wind  which  he  respects  not. 
These  predictions  foreshadow  perfectly  the  action 


Macbeth  59 

of  the  drama  Macbeth  in  an  aside,  uttered  a  mo- 
ment later,  says 

Two  truths  are  told, 
As  happy  prologues  to  the  swelling  act 
Of  the  imperial  theme. 

This  is  perfect  foreshadowing.  Shakespeare  by 
means  of  three  asides  now  lays  bare  to  us  Macbeth's 
mind  and  heart,  and  reveals  to  us  his  deepest 
thoughts  and  feelings 

This  supernatural  soliciting 
Cannot  be  ill,  cannot  be  good     if  ill, 
Why  hath  it  given  me  earnest  of  success, 
Commencing  in  a  truth  ?     I  am  thane  of  Cawdor: 
If  good,  why  do  I  yield  to  that  suggestion 
Whose  horrid  image  doth  unfix  my  hair 
And  make  my  seated  heart  knock  at  my  ribs, 
Against  the  use  of  nature  ?     Present  fears 
Are  less  than  horrible  imaginings: 
My  thought,  whose  murder  yet  is  but  fantastical, 
Shakes  so  my  single  state  of  man  that  function 
Is  smother'd  in  surmise,  and  nothing  is 
But  what  is  not. 

If  chance  will  have  me  king,  why,  chance  may  crown  me, 
Without  my  stir. 

Come  what  come  may, 
Time  and  the  hour  runs  through  the  roughest  day. 

A  moment  later   Macbeth,    Banquo,    Ross,   and 
Angus  go  to  meet  the  King. 


60  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Duncan  is  at  his  castle  at  Forres.  With  him  are 
his  sons  and  Attendants.  Malcolm  informs  him  of 
the  execution  of  Cawdor,  who  died  so  bravely  that 

nothing  in  his  life 
Became  him  like  the  leaving  it. 

Duncan    acknowledges   he    had   been   entirely  de- 
ceived by  him,  that  upon  him  he  had 

built 
An  absolute  trust. 

Macbeth  and  Banquo  arrive.  They  are  greeted 
by  Duncan,  who  recognizes  their  great  services,  and 
promises  to  reward  them.  He  then  makes  an  an- 
nouncement which  surprises  and  profoundly  stirs 
Macbeth : 

Sons,  kinsmen,  thanes, 
And  you  whose  places  are  the  nearest,  know 
We  will  establish  our  estate  upon 
Our  eldest,  Malcolm,  whom  we  name  hereafter 
The  Prince  of  Cumberland:  which  honour  must 
Not  unaccompanied  invest  him  only, 
But  signs  of  nobleness,  like  stars,  shall  shine 
On  all  deservers. 

Addressing  Macbeth  he  announces  his  determina- 
tion to  honor  him  further  by  visiting  him  at  his 
castle  at  Inverness.  Shakespeare  then  gives  us  an- 
other glance  into  Macbeth's  soul  by  means  of  an 
aside. 

A  drama  is  the  most  objective  of  all  forms  of  lit- 
erature. The  dramatist  cannot  speak  in  his  own 
person.     The  only  mediums  by  which  he  can  find 


Macbeth  61 

expression  are  the  dramatis  personal.  If  he  wishes 
to  reveal  their  secret  thoughts,  motives,  purposes, 
he  does  not  tell  us  about  them ;  he  makes  them  re- 
veal themselves  in  asides,  soliloquies.  Like  a 
lighted  lamp  in  a  cavern,  which  illumines  and 
makes  visible  that  which  previously  was  shrouded  in 
darkness,  so  an  aside  or  a  soliloquy  in  a  drama  re- 
veals the  secret  thoughts  and  motives,  the  plans 
and  hopes  of  the  speaker. 

By  such  means  Macbeth  now  discloses  to  us  the 
effect  on  him  of  Duncan's  announcement: 

The  Prince  of  Cumberland!  that  is  a  step 
On  which  I  must  fall  down,  or  else  o'erleap, 
For  in  my  way  it  lies.     Stars,  hide  your  fires; 
Let  not  light  see  my  black  and  deep  desires: 
The  eye  wink  at  the  hand;  yet  let  that  be 
Which  the  eye  fears,  when  it  is  done,  to  see. 

Macbeth  had  hoped  to  succeed  Duncan.  By  his 
prowess  he  had  suppressed  the  rebellion.  He  be- 
lieved he  had  fairly  won,  and  was  justly  entitled  to, 
the  throne.  His  hopes,  however,  were  all  dissi- 
pated by  Duncan's  announcement,  making  the 
Prince  of  Cumberland  his  successor.  The  change 
wrought  in  Macbeth  is  immediate,  profound,  radi- 
cal. All  questionings,  hesitancies,  considerations  of 
prudence,  cease.  Irresolution  disappears.  He  at 
once  decides  to  seize  the  throne  by  force,  which 
necessitated  the  murder  of  Duncan,  and  possibly 
that  of  Malcolm  ;  and  then,  having  succeeded  in  do- 
ing so,  to  kill  Banquo  and  Fleance,  and  thereby  pre- 
vent the  seed  of  Banquo  becoming  kings,  and 
succeeding  him. 


62  Shakespeare's  Plots 

The  execution  of  this  determination,  together 
with  all  the  consequences  thereof,  constitutes  the 
Main  Action  of  the  drama.  Or,  to  express  it  in  an- 
other form,  the  Main  Action  of  the  play  is  the  Rise 
and  Fall  of  the  Macbeths. 

The  real  tragedy  of  the  play,  however,  is  not  in 
the  murderous  blows,  the  flowing  blood,  the  violent 
deaths,  which  take  place  during  the  progress  of  the 
action.  A  portrayal  of  murderous  deeds  does  not 
constitute  a  tragedy.  This  is  only  a  bloody  spec- 
tacle. The  mission  of  the  artist  is  to  describe  states 
of  soul.  "  Crime  becomes,  then,  really  tragic  when 
it  merely  furnishes  the  theme  for  a  profound  psy- 
chological study  of  motive  and  character."  '  The 
-■tragic  in  this  play  is  the  dedication  of  Macbeth  and 
his  fiend-like  Queen  to  evil,  and  their  consequent 
moral  ruin.  It  is  in  their  perverted  wills,  violated 
consciences.  "  Tragedy  .  .  .  depends  pri- 
marily on  the  collision  of  real  spiritual  forces."  *  In 
this  play  it  is  the  death-struggle  which  is  taking 
place  within  the  Macbeths  between  "  the  ghost  of 
the  Brute  "  and  their  better  natures;  between  mur- 
derous ambition  and  conscience. 

The  real  scene  of  the  action,  therefore,  is  the 
souls  of  the  Macbeths.  The  revelation  of  this  tragic 
struggle  is  necessarily  made  by  means  of  soliloquies 
and  asides,  of  which  there  are  so  many  in  the  play. 
This  is  their  dramatic  function.  They  "  have  in- 
terest, not  as  lamentations  or  rhapsodies,  but  as 
giving    the    swift   inner   movement    of    the   soul, 

1  Lowell,  Old  English  Dramatists,  p.  6l. 
1  Bosanqaet,  History  of  ^-Esthetic,  p.  358. 


Macbeth  63 

explaining  itself  to  itself,  or  about  to  change  its  atti- 
tude toward  the  other  souls."  '  By  means  of  them 
Shakespeare  reveals  to  us,  in  all  their  variety,  sub- 
tlety, and  intensity,  those  dreadful  and  involved 
passions  in  the  Macbeths  which  are  in  conflict. 

The  Introduction  ends  with  the  exit  of  Macbeth, 
who  humbly  takes  his  leave  in  order  that  he  may  be 

the  harbinger  and  make  joyful 
The  hearing  of  my  wite  with  your  approach. 

In  this  Introduction 

I. — Shakespeare  has  brought  forward  all  the  prin- 
cipal characters  in  the  drama,  Duncan,  Macbeth, 
Banquo,  Malcolm,  in  person,  and  Lady  Macbeth  by 
a  reference  to  her.  From  what  we  have  seen  and 
heard  of  them,  excepting  Lady  Macbeth,  we  can 
perceive  what  are  the  salient  traits  of  each.  Dun- 
can is  peace-loving,  weak,  overconfiding,  generous. 
Banquo  is  brave,  thoughtful,  almost  skeptical.  Mac- 
beth possesses  tireless  energy,  is  fearless,  a  born 
leader,  is  morally  weak  and  vacillating,  and  is  am- 
bitious to  an  inordinate,  a  murderous  degree. 

If  the  play  is  properly  constructed  the  characters 
will  develop  along  these  lines,  and  at  the  close  of 
their  dramatic  lives  will  be  essentially  the  same  as 
in  the  Introduction. 

II,  —  Shakespeare  has  informed  us  fully  of  the 
cause  of  the  action  of  the  drama. 

III. — That  action  has  been  clearly  foreshadowed. 

In  this  Introduction  every  detail  has  led,  step  by 
step,  naturally,  inevitably,  up  to  the  beginning  of 

1  Hegel,  ALsthttics. 


64  Shakespeare's  Plots 

the  action.  The  chord  that  vibrates  through  the 
play  is  struck. 

Present  fears 

Are  less  than  horrible  imaginings: 

My  thought,  whose  murder  yet  is  but  fantastical, 

that  is,  exists  only  in  my  imagination,  is  soon  to  be 
followed  by  a  murder  that  is  actual. 

GROWTH 
I.,  $-11.,  finis 

Macbeth  had  left  the  King  in  Forres,  and  had 
hastened  to  Inverness,  to  inform  his  wife  of  Dun- 
can's approach  Bcfoi  ;.  her  Macbeth  or  the  King 
arrives  at   Invernes  ire  introduces  Lady 

Macbeth.     She  enl  ting  a  letter.     It  is  from 

her  husband.  It  informs  iter  of  his  interview  with 
the  Witches,  and  of  their  three  predictions,  two  of 
which  have  already  been  fulfilled.  The  third  one, 
Hail,  king  that  shalt  be  !  is  still  unfulfilled,  and  is, 
as  Macbeth  writes  to  her,  a  presage  of  what  great- 
ness is  promised  thee. 

This  is  the  third  time  Shakespeare  has  informed 
us  of  these  predictions.  Why  has  he,  at  the  very 
beginning  of  the  drama,  repeated  them  so  often  ? 
These  prophecies  developed  instantly,  and  to  an 
overmastering  degree,  in  both  Macbeth  and  Lady 
Macbeth  their  slumbering  ambition,  from  which 
proceeds  the  action  of  the  drama.  Shakespeare 
wishes  to  impress  this  fact  most  deeply  on  the  spec- 
tators.    He  therefore   iterates  and  reiterates  them. 


Macbeth  65 

[is  technique  in  this  matter  is  very  effective,  and 
is  a  perfect  example  of  Repetition,  Alteration, 
Alternation. 

As  soon  as  she  has  finished  reading  the  letter 
Lady  Macbeth  begins  to  make  plans  to  ki'l  the 
King  and  seize  the  throne.  This  marks  the  begin- 
ning of  the  action  of  the  drama.  The  consumma- 
:ion  of  these  plans  in  the  murder  of  Duncan,  and 
the  immediate  consequences  thereof,  is  the  subject 
i{  the  Growth  or  second  division  of  the  play. 

In  two  soliloquies  Lady  Macbeth  reveals  to  us  her 
intensest  feelings  and  desires,  her  innermost 
thoughts  and  purposes.  She  is  the  devoted  wife, 
loyal  and  loving;  she  is  fearless  and  cruel;  she 
checks  all  appeals  and  warnings  of  conscience;  and 
in  one  of  the  most  awful  invocations  in  all  literature 

ledicates  herself  to  evil: 

The  raven  himself  is  hoarse 
That  croaks  the  fatal  entrance  of  Duncan 
Under  my  battlements.     Come,  you  spirits 
That  tend  on  mortal  thoughts,  unsex  me  here, 
And  fill  me  from  the  crown  to  the  toe  top-full 
Of  direst  cruelty!  make  thick  my  blood; 
Stop  up  the  access  and  passage  to  remorse, 
That  no  compunctious  visitings  of  nature 
Shake  my  fell  purpose,  nor  keep  peace  between 
The  effect  and  it!     Come  to  my  woman's  breasts, 
And  take  my  milk  for  gall,  you  murdering  ministers, 
Wherever  in  your  sightless  substances 
You  wait  on  nature's  mischief!     Come,  thick  night, 
And  pall  thee  in  the  dunnest  smoke  of  hell, 
That  my  keen  knife  see  not  the  wound  it  makes, 


66  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Nor  heaven  peep  through  the  blanket  of  the  dark, 
To  cry,  "  Hold,  hold!  " 

As  the  prophecies  of  the  Weird  Sisters  had  had 
on  Macbeth  an  immediate  and  malign  effect,  had 
developed  in  him,  to  the  highest  degree,  a  wicked 
and  cruel  ambition,  so  the  report  of  those  predic- 
tions, as  contained  in  his  letter  to  Lady  Macbeth, 
had  had  a  similar  effect  on  her. 

Between  the  two,  however,  there  is  a  material 
difference.  Macbeth  had  compunctious  visitings  of 
nature,  i.  e.,  feelings  of  pity,  warnings  of  conscience, 
which  acted  as  deterrents.  No  one  knew  him  bet- 
ter  than  his  wife.  In  the  first  of  the  two  soliloquies 
she  describes  him,  and  that  is  one  of  the  dramatic 
functions  of  that  soliloquy: 

.     .     yet  do  I  fear  thy  nature; 
It  is  too  full  o'  the  milk  of  human  kindness ' 

1  As  generally  understood,  the  second  line  seems  to  he  inharmo- 
nious with,  in  fact  contradictory  to,  the  remainder  of  the  description. 
Kindness  in  the  sense  of  good-will,  benignity,  tenderness,  hardly 
seems  to  be  a  quality  of  a  man  who  woultlst  wrongly  win  ;  who 
reached  the  throne  by  a  bloody  path  a  path  strewn  with  murdered 
men  ,  who,  later,  maintained  Inmself  on  the  throne  by  the  slaughter 
of  a  helpless  woman  and  children. 

It  is  a  canon  of  dramatic  art  iliat  a  character  must  be  consistent. 
That  does  not  mean  unchanging.  Men  in  real  life  are  vacillating, 
inconstant.  So  are  they  in  the  drama.  But  in  both,  a  character 
must  be  consistent.  In  interpreting  it,  therefore,  all  the  details 
must  be  considered,  and  found  to  be  accordant. 

Macbeth  was  not  full  o'  the  milk  of  human  kindness  in  the  sense 
of  being  benign  If  Lady  Macbeth  had  so  meant  she  would  have 
been  in  error,  and  her  description  of  her  husband's  character  would 
have  been,  to  that  degree,  incorrect.  She  used  the  word  kindness 
in  the  same  sense  in  which  it  was  used  in  Old  and  Middle  English. 


Macbeth  67 

To  catch  the  nearest  way;  thou  wouldst  be  great; 

Art  not  without  ambition,  but  without 

The  illness  should  attend  it:  what  thou  wouldst  highly, 

That  wouldst  thou  holily;  wouldst  not  play  false, 

And  yet  wouldst  wrongly  win:    thou  'ldst  have,  great 

Glamis, 
That  which  cries,  "  Thus  thou  must  do,  if  thou  have  it; 
And  that  which  rather  thou  dost  fear  to  do 
Than  wishest  should  be  undone." 

Macbeth,  according  to  his  wife,  is  ambitious,  but 
is  not  yet  hardened  in  wickedness.  He  is  with- 
out the  illness,  i.  e.,  hardness  of  heart,  which,  she 
thinks,  is  a  concomitant  of  successful  ambition. 
That  which  restrains  him,  however,  is  not  a  moral, 
but  a  prudential  consideration.  It  is  simply  a  fear 
of  the  consequences  of  wrong-doing.  She  there- 
fore mistrusts  his  courage,  and  desires  that  he  may 

Kind  is  derived  from  Anglo-Saxon  eynd.  nature,  cynde.  natural,  in- 
nate. Webster  s  first  definition  is.  '  characteristic  of  the  species  : 
belonging  to  one's  nature."  This  was  the  primary  signification* 
Referring  to  this  word  in  Cursor  Alundi  a  long  poem  translated 
from  the  French  about  \2<yj  AD..  T.  L.  Kington  Oliphant  jays  f 
"  Kind  had  hitherto  meant  naturalts  .  in  p.  114G  it  gets  the 
farther  sense  of  bcnigtms  These  two  senses  lingered  on  side  by 
side  for  nearly  400  years,  as  we  see  in  Milton.  On  this  subject 
Dean  Trench  writes  $•  Again,  there  are  some  words  in  our 
Liturgy  which  are  not  unfre<piently  misunderstood.  In  the  Litany 
we  ask  of  God  that  it  would  please  Him  to  give  and  preserve  to  our 
use  the  kindly  fruits  of  the  earth.'  What  is  commonly  understood 
by  these  '  kindly  fruits  of  the  earth'  ?  The  fruits,  if  I  mistake  not. 
in  which  the  kindness  of  God.  or  of  nature  toward  us,  finds  its  ex- 
pression.    This  is  no  unworthy  meaning  to  give  to  these  words,  but 

•  ty  Stormonth's   Dictionary;    Skeat's   Etymological  Dictionary ;  Brewer's 
Etymological  and  Pronouncing  Dictionary. 

t  The  Old  and  Middle  English,  p.  345. 

X  Engiitk  Pait  and  Present,  pp.  351,  151. 


68  Shakespeare's  Plots 

come  to  her,  That  I  may  pour  my  spirits  in  thine  ear 
and  thereby  silence  his  scruples  and  overcome  his 
timidity. 

Lady  Macbeth's  description  of  her  husband  as  he 
is  at  the  beginning  of  the  drama  is  in  every  detail 
accurate.  As  the  action  progresses  everything  he 
says  and  does  confirms  Lady  Macbeth's  judgment. 

A  messenger  arrives  and  announces  the  approach 

still  it  is  not  the  right  one.  The  'kindly  fruits'  are  the  'natural 
fruits,'  those  which  the  earth  according  to  its  kind  should  naturally 
bring  forth,  which  it  is  appointed  to  produce.  To  show  you  how 
little  'kindly'  once  meant  benignant,  as  it  means  now,  I  will  in- 
stance an  employment  of  it  from  Sir  Thos.  More's  Life  of  Richard 
III.  He  tells  Vis  that  Richard  calculated  by  murdering  his  two 
nephews  in  the  Tower  to  make  himself  accounted  '  a  kindly  king '- — 
not  certainly  a  kindly  one  in  our  present  usage  of  the  word  ;  but, 
having  put  them  out  of  the  way,  that  he  should  then  be  lineal  heir 
of  the  crown,  and  should  thus  be  reckoned  as  king  by  kind  or 
natural  descent  ;  and  such  was  of  old  the  constant  use  of  the  word. 
And  Bishop  Andrews,  preaching  on  the  '  Conspiracy  of  the  Cowries,' 
asks  concerning  the  conspirators.  Where  are  they  ?  Gone  to  their 
own  place,  to  Judas,  their  brother;  as  is  most  kindly  ;  the  sons  to 
the  father  of  wickedness,  there  to  be  plagued  with  him  forever,'  " 

In  this  sense  Shakespeare  frequently  uses  this  and  the  cognate 
words.     Hamlet  describes  his  uncle-father  as 

"  A  little  more  than  kin  and  less  than  kind." 

I.,  2,  65. 
This  means  (I  quote  from  Crant  White)     "  In  marrying  my  mother 
you  have  made  yourself  something  more  than  my  kinsman,  and  at 
the  same  time  have  shown  yourself  unworthy  of  our  race,  our  kind.  ' 
And  again  : 

"  Remorseless,  treacherous,  lecherous,  kindles t  villain." 

II.    2,  609. 

1.  e..  an  unnatural  villain,  one  contrary  to  human  kind.  The  Fool 
says  to  Lear  (I..  5    13) 

"  Shalt  see  thy  other  daughter  will  use  thee  kindly." 
1.  e.,  according  to  her  nature,  brutally.     When  the  Clown  brought 


Macbeth  69 

of  Macbeth  and  the  King.  But  ?.  moment  later 
Macbeth  himself  enters.  Lady  Macbeth  immedi- 
ately and  frankly  hints  to  him  her  plan  to  bring  to 
fulfilment  the  third  prediction  of  the  Weird  Sisters: 

O,  never 
Shall  sun  that  morrow  see! 

on  which  Duncan  goes  hence. 

to  Cleopatra  the  pretty  worm  of  Nilus,  he  said  (A.  and  C,  V.,  2,  263), 
"  You  must  think  this,  look  you, 
That  the  worm  will  do  his  kind" 
i.  e.,  bite,  poison,  kill. 

It  was  in  this  sense  that  Lady  Macbeth  uses  the  word  kindness. 
That  becomes  very  evident  if  one  accepts  Prof.  Moulton's  suggestion 
and  prints  the  phrase,  "  as  one  word,  not  '  human  kindness,'  but 
'  humankindness."  "  *  Macbeth  was  too  full  o'  the  milk  (the  essence) 
cf  human  kindness,  of  human  nature,  too  thoroughly  human,  to  rise 
above  the  weakness  of  a  man,  and  catch  the  nearest  way,  use  violent, 
bloody  means  to  gain  the  throne..  He  would,  Lady  Macbeth  feared, 
shrink  from  murder,  and  that,  in  her  opinion,  was  the  surest  and 
quickest  way  for  him  to  become  what  the  Weird  Sisters  predicted, 
viz.,  King  that  shall  he  !  And  in  this  opinion  she  was  entirely  cor- 
rect.  He  refused  positively  to  yield  to  that  suggestion,  which  was  to 
murder  Duncan.     He  preferred  to  trust  to  chance  : 

"  If  chance  will  have  me  king,  why,  chance  may  crown  me, 
Without  my  stir." 
Later,  he  did  murder  Duncan.  The  deed,  however,  was  done  only 
after  he  had  been  cajoled  and  taunted,  and  his  courage  had  been 
screwed  to  the  sticking-place,  by  Lady  Macbeth  ;  only  after  a  most 
violent  mental  and  emotional  conflict.  The  description  of  him 
which  Lady  Macbeth  gives  in  this  soliloquy  was,  therefore,  correct 
and  consistent  from  the  first  to  the  last  word.  All  the  details  ac- 
cord with  one  another,  and  are  in  perfect  harmony  with  his  char- 
acter and  life.  He  was  not  kind-hearted,  humane,  benignant.  He 
was,  like  other  men,  averse  to  such  unnatural  methods  as  violence, 
bloodshed,  murder.     He  was 

"...     too  full  o'  the  milk  of  human  kindness 
To  catch  the  nearest  way." 
*  Shakttpcart  at  a  Dramatic  Artitt,  pp.  149,  150. 


70  Shakespeare's  Plots 

She  at  once  begins  to  pour  her  spirits  into  his  ear: 

To  beguile  the  time, 
Look  like  the  time;  bear  welcome  in  your  eye, 
Your  hand,  your  tongue:  look  like  the  innocent  flower, 
But  be  the  serpent  under  't.     He  that  's  coming 
Must  be  provided  for:  and  you  shall  put 
This  night's  great  business  into  my  dispatch; 
Which  shall  to  all  our  nights  and  days  to  come 
Give  solely  sovereign  sway  and  masterdom. 

The  plot  is  too  daring,  too  brutal  to  win  Macbeth's 
approval.  He  hesitates.  We  ivill  speak  further. 
Such  is  the  inception  of  the  plot  of  the  Macbeths. 
As  Duncan  enters  Macbeth's  castle,  the  scene  of 
his  cruel  and  violent  death,  both  he  and  Banquo 
observe  and  comment  upon  the  beauty,  fragrance, 
peacefulness,  of  surrounding  Nature. 

The  heaven's  breath 
Smells  wooingly  here:  no  jutty,  frieze, 
Buttress,  nor  coign  of  vantage,  but  this  bird 
Hath  made  his  pendent  bed  and  procreant  cradle: 
Where  they  most  breed  and  haunt,  I  have  observed, 
The  air  is  delicate. 

Shakespeare  was  a  master  of  Contrast.  By  his 
reference  here  to  the  peacefulness  and  quiet  sur- 
rounding the  castle,  the  bloody  deed  so  soon  to  be 
consummated  within  its  walls  becomes  more  start- 
ling and  appalling. 

Duncan  enters.  He  is  received  by  Lady  Macbeth 
with  every  expression  of  gratitude  and  loyalty.  He 
accepts  her  words  as  sincere  and  heartfelt.     Little 


Macbeth  71 

does  he  suspect  danger.  He  has  learned  nothing 
from  the  treason  of  the  late  thane  of  Cawdor.  He 
inquires  for  Macbeth,  protests  anew  his  love  for 
him,  and  declares  his  intention  to  continue  our  graces 
towards  him.  Duncan  is  still  perfectly  guileless.  He 
is  still  unable 

To  find  the  mind's  construction  in  the  face. 

Without  taking  any  measures  to  guard  against  trea 
son,  he  enters  the  castle,  there  to  meet  his  fate. 

Omission  to  do  what  is  necessary 

Seals  a  commission  to  a  blank  of  danger. 

Shakespeare  now,  by  means  of  a  soliloquy,  re- 
veals to  us  the  conflict  that  is  taking  place  in  Mac- 
beth's  mind  and  heart  between  the  assassination  and 
the  consequence.  The  wickedness  of  the  murder  of 
Duncan  is  not  with  Macbeth  a  factor  in  the  prob- 
lem. He  considers  only  the  punishment  following 
crime  and  sin ;  that 

This  even  handed  justice 
Commends  the  ingredients  of  our  poison'd  chalice 
To  our  own  lips. 

He  is  not  afraid  of  punishment  beyond  the  grave, 
but  of  that  which  will  be  meted  out  to  him  here. 
He  finds  further  reasons  against  the  deed  in  that  he 
is  both  a  kinsman  and  a  subject  of  Duncan;  that 
Duncan  is  his  guest;  and  that  Duncan  has  been  so 
meek  and  so  just,  clear  in  his  great  office.  As  the 
result  of  his  reflections  he  acknowledges  to  himself 


72  Shakespeare's  Plots 

I  have  no  spur 
To  prick  the  sides  of  my  intent,  but  only 
Vaulting  ambition. 

Macbeth  had  a  keen  appreciation  of  the  fact  that 
iwhat  a  man  sows  that  he  also  reaps;  that  conse- 
quences inevitably  follow  deeds;  that  if  a  deed  is 
good  the  consequence  is  happiness,  if  evil,  misery 
and  death.  He  believes  implicitly  in  the  supremacy 
of  the  moral  law.  He  does  not  err  through  igno- 
rance or  mistaken  judgment.  Nor  does  he  deceive 
himself  as  to  the  motive  which  actuates  him.  He 
acknowledges  frankly  he  has  no  cause  to  kill  Dun- 
can, but  his  own  Vaulting  ambition.  This,  he  con- 
fesses, not  only  may,  but  will,  defeat  itself.  As  the 
horseman  vaulting  into  the  saddle  sometimes 

.     .     .     o'erleaps 
And  falls  on  the  other 

side  so  will  this  deed  fail  to  accomplish  that  which 
he  so  much  desires. 

This  is  perfect  foreshadowing.  It  foretells  the 
future  action  of  the  drama. 

Lady  Macbeth  now  enters.  Macbeth  announces 
to  her  the  result  of  his  deliberation: 

We  will  proceed  no  further  in  this  business. 

Her  judgment  of  him  as  expressed  in  her  soliloquy 
is  confirmed.      Her  fear  that  his  nature 

.     .     .     is  too  full  o'  the  milk  of  human  kindness 
To  catch  the  nearest  way 


Macbeth  73 

is  well  grounded.  She  does  not  despair,  or  even 
hesitate.  Immediately  she  brings  to  bear  upon  him 
her  potent  influence.  She  knows  him  to  be  a  brave 
man,  Bellonds  bridegroom.  She  taunts  him  with 
cowardice. 

Art  thou  afeard 

To  be  the  same  in  thine  own  act  and  valour 

As  thou  art  in  desire  ? 

She  reminds  him  that  when  he  first  suggested  the 
enterprise  to  her  neither  the  time  nor  place  was  favor- 
able, but  that  now  both  arc. 

What  beast  was  't,  then, 
That  made  you  break  this  enterprise  to  me  ? 
When  you  durst  do  it,  then  you  were  a  man; 
And,  to  be  more  than  what  you  were,  you  would 
Ue  so  much  more  the  man.     Nor  time  nor  place 
Did  then  adhere,  and  yet  you  would  make  both: 
They  have  made  themselves,  and  that  their  fitness  now 
Does  unmake  you. 

She  instances  herself  as  being  so  completely  dedi- 
cated to  the  work  that  even  maternal  love,  if  that 
were  an  impediment,  would  be  disregarded. 

I  have  given  suck,  and  know 
How  tender  't  is  to  love  the  babe  thai  milks  me: 
I  would,  while  it  was  smiling  in  my  face, 
Have  pluck'd  my  nipple  from  his  boneless  gums, 
And  dash'd  the  brains  out,  had  I  so  sworn  as  you 
Have  done  to  this. 

Macbeth  hesitates.  If  we  should  fail  ?  Lady  Mac- 
beth does  not  consider  that  worthy  of  a  moment's 
consideration : 


74  Shakespeare's  Plots 

We  fail! 
But  screw  your  courage  to  the  sticking-place, 
And  we  '11  not  fail. 

She  then  unfolds  in  detail  her  plan  for  the  murder. 
When  Duncan  and  his  two  chamberlains  are  asleep 

What  cannot  you  and  I  perform  upon 
The  unguarded  Duncan  ? 

Just  as  easy  will  it  be  to  lay  the   guilt  upon  his 
spongy  officers. 

Will  it  not  be  received, 
When  we  have  mark'd  with  blood  those  sleepy  two 
Of  his  own  chamber  and  used  their  very  daggers, 
That  they  have  done  't  ? 

Macbeth  yields.  His  hesitancies,  his  prudential 
reasonings,  his  fears  of  failure,  are  silenced. 

I  am  settl-ed,  and  bend  up 
Each  corporal  agent  to  this  terrible  feat. 

He  has  made  his  decision.  It  is  against  the 
right.  His  will  is  perverted,  his  conscience  en- 
feebled. From  this  time  its  protests  grow  weaker 
and  weaker,  until  finally  they  are  silenced. 

The  action  of  the  drama  now  moves  with  great 
rapidity.  A  brief  conversation  takes  place  between 
Banquo  and  Fleance,  in  the  court  of  the  castle, 
after  midnight.  The  moon  is  doivn,  the  stars  are  not 
shining.     It  is  so  dark  Fleance  bears  a  torch. 

Banquo  gives  to  Fleance  his  sword  and  dagger. 
Notwithstanding 


Macbeth  75 

A  heavy  summons  lies  like  lead  upon  me 
And  yet  I  would  not  sleep. 

Then  in  a  few  words  he  reveals  to  Fleance  his  fore- 
boding of  ill. 

Merciful  powers, 
Restrain  in  me  the  cursed  thoughts  that  nature 
Gives  way  to  in  repose! 

Despite  his  presentiment  of  danger  Banquo  neglects 
to  take  any  precautionary  measures.  He  even  parts 
with  his  weapons  of  defence,  giving  them  to  Fleance. 
Although  this  is  apparently  a  trivial  detail  still  it  is 
very  significant.  It  reveals  to  us  a  defect  in  Ban- 
quo's  character, — neglect  to  guard  against  impend- 
ing and  foreseen  danger.  This  leads  to  fatal  results 
in  his  case,  as  it  had  in  that  of  Duncan. 

Macbeth   enters.     Banquo    informs   him    of   the 
King's  generosity: 

He  hath  been  in  unusual  pleasure,  and 
Sent  forth  great  largess  to  your  offices. 
This  diamond  he  greets  your  wife  withal, 
By  the  name  of  most  kind  hostess. 

He  adds: 

I  dreamt  last  night  of  the  three  weird  sisters: 
To  you  they  have  show'd  some  truth. 

Then  Macbeth  hints  of  his  dark  purpose,  and  ex- 
presses his  desire  to  have  Banquo  as  a  confederate. 
Banquo,  not  so  guileless  as  Duncan,  had  already 
divined    Macbeth's   purpose.      He  decides  to  join 


76  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Macbeth  in  that  plan  which  shall  make  honour  foi 
him 

...     So  I  lose  none 
In  seeking  to  augment  it. 

Banquo  and  Fleance  then  retire.  Macbeth  orders 
his  servant : 

Go  bid  thy  mistress,  when  my  drink  is  ready, 
She  strike  upon  the  bell. 

The  servant  goes  to  execute  the  command.  Mac- 
beth is  left  alone.  Then,  in  a  soliloquy,  the  last  be- 
fore the  murder,  Shakespeare  makes  Macbeth  again 
lay  bare  his  mind  and  heart.  In  imagination  Mac- 
beth sees  a  dagger.     He  apostrophizes  it: 

Thou  marshall'st  me  the  way  that  I  was  going; 
And  such  an  instrument  I  was  to  use,  seq. 

In  this  soliloquy  the  voice  of  conscience  is  not 
heard.  It  is  stilled.  Neither  is  there  wavering, 
indecision.  On  the  contrary,  he  wishes  to  act,  and 
to  act  promptly : 

Whiles  I  threat  he  lives: 
Words  to  the  heat  of  deeds  too  cold  breath  gives. 

A  bell  rings,  the  signal  agreed  upon  by  Lady  Mac- 
beth and  himself  as  a  notification  to  him  that  every- 
thing was  ready.     Macbeth  recognizes  it : 

I  go,  and  it  is  done;  the  bell  invites  me. 
Hear  it  not,  Duncan;  for  it  is  a  knell 
That  summons  thee  to  heaven  or  to  hell. 


Macbeth  77 

While  he  is  in  Duncan's  chamber  Lady  Macbeth 
appears  on  the  stage.  In  two  brief  soliloquies  she 
reveals  her  part  in  the  deed.  She  drugged  the 
possets  of  the  grooms;  she  laid  their  daggers  ready, 
so  her  husband  could  not  miss  'em.  She  even  would 
have  done  't 

Had  he  not  resembled 
My  father  as  he  slept. 

As  the  flash  of  lightning  on  the  dark  and  stormy 
night  makes  the  gloom  more  oppressive  and  terrible 
so  does  this  gleam  of  filial  affection  in  Lady  Mac- 
beth reveal  more  clearly  and  impressively  her  dark, 
sinister,  murderous  nature.  Aptly  did  she  describe 
herself: 

That  which  hath  made  them  drunk  hath  made  me  bold; 
What  hath  quench'd  them  hath  given  me  fire. 

Macbeth  from  within  had  heard  Lady  Macbeth  so- 
liloquizing.    He  whispered 

Who  's  there  ?  what,  ho! 

Now  he  enters  and  immediately  says: 

I  have  done  the  deed. 

No  sooner  is. the  deed  consummated  than  a  violent 
reaction  takes  place  in  Macbeth.  His  soul  revolts 
against  his  conduct.  He  has  become  morally  in- 
sane. He  is  surprised  he  cannot  say  Amen  when 
the  groom  prays  God  bless  us  !  His  distempered 
imagination  has  become  so  active  he  thinks  he 
hears  a  voice  cry 


78  Shakespeare's  Plots 

"  Sleep  no  more! 
Glamis  hath  murder'd  sleep,  and  therefore  Cawdor 
Shall  sleep  no  more;  Macbeth  shall  sleep  no  more." 

Lady  Macbeth  tries  to  reassure  him: 

Why-,  worthy  thane, 
You  do  unbend  your  noble  strength,  to  think 
So  brainsickly  of  things. 

Lady  Macbeth  experiences  neither   penitence   nor 

fear.     She  is  cool,  deliberate,  resourceful,  daring. 

She  directs  her  conscience-stricken  husband  what 

to  do: 

Go  get  some  water, 

And  wash  this  filthy  witness  from  your  hand. 

Why  did  you  bring  these  daggers  from  the  place  ? 

They  must  lie  there:  go  carry  them;  and  smear 

The  sleepy  grooms  with  blood. 

Macbeth  is  overcome  with  fear  and  remorse: 

I  '11  go  no  more: 
I  am  afraid  to  think  what  I  have  done; 
Look  on  *t  again  I  dare  not. 

Lady  Macbeth  taunts  him  with  indecision  and  fear: 

Infirm  of  purpose! 
Give  me  the  daggers:  the  sleeping  and  the  dead 
Are  tut  as  pictures:  't  is  the  eye  of  childhood 
That  fears  a  painted  devil.     If  he  do  bleed, 
I  '11  gild  the  faces  of  the  grooms  withal; 
For  it  must  seem  their  guilt. 

Macbeth  hears  a  knocking.     His  fears  are  intensi- 
fied;  his  remorse  becomes  more  harrowing: 


Macbeth  79 

Whence  is  that  knocking  ? 
How  is  't  with  me,  when  every  noise  appals  me  ? 
What  hands  are  here  ?  ha!  they  pluck  out  mine  eyes. 
Will  all  great  Neptune's  ocean  wash  this  blood 
Clean  from  my  hand  ?     No;  this  my  hand  will  rather 
The  multitudinous  seas  incarnadine, 
Making  the  green  one  red. 

Lady  Macbeth  perceives  that  her  husband  is  wholly 
unnerved.  She  frankly  acknowledges  her  com- 
plicity in  the  deed,  and  again  taunts  him  with  cow- 
ardice: 

My  hands  are  of  your  colour:  but  I  shame 
To  wear  a  heart  so  white. 

And  as  she,  again  and  again,  and  still  again,  hears 
knocking  at  the  south  entry  she  rises  to  the  emer- 
gency, and  directs  her  terror-stricken  husband  what 
to  do  to  divert  suspicion  from  themselves: 

I  hear  a  knocking 
At  the  south  entry:  retire  we  to  our  chamber: 
A  little  water  clears  us  of  this  deed: 
How  easy  is  it,  then!     Your  constancy 
Hath  left  you  unattended.     (Knocking  within.)     Hark! 

more  knocking. 
Get  on  your  nightgown,  lest  occasion  call  us 
And  show  us  to  be  watchers.     Be  not  lost 
So  poorly  in  your  thoughts. 

She  fails  to  inspire  her  husband  with  courage;  or  to 
assuage  the  pangs  of  his  remorse.     He  says 

To  know  my  deed,  't  were  best  not  know  myself. 

(Knocking  within.) 


80  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Wake    Duncan    with    thy    knocking  !     I    would    thou 
couldst! 

I.,  all  literature  there  is  no  more  perfect  descrip- 
tion of  Remorse  than  this  revelation  of  Macbeth's 
feelings  after  he  had  murdered  Duncan. 

The  action  of  the  drama,  which  has  been  moving 
with  great  rapidity,  now  temporarily  stops.  The 
remainder  of  the  Growth  (the  last  two  Scenes  of 
Act  II.)  are  episodic.  Shakespeare  introduces  them 
for  the  twofold  purpose  of  checking  too  rapid  prog- 
ress of  the  action,  and  relieving  the  thoughts  and 
emotions  of  the  spectators  of  the  drama,  which  have 
been  excited  to  an  intense  degree. 

Morning  dawns.  The  members  of  the  King's 
suite  knock  at  the  door  of  his  apartments.  The 
Porter  answers  very  tardily.  Only  after  repeated 
and  loud  knocks  does  he  respond  to  the  demands 
of  the  impatient  nobles  for  admission.  The  door 
which  he  guards  is  not  only  a  barrier  to  the  entrance 
of  Macduff  and  Lennox,  it  is  also  an  obstruction 
to  the  movement  of  the  action. 

While  the  Porter  delays  the  opening  of  the  door 
he  indulges  in  reflections  which  are  full  of  grim 
humor: 

Here  's  a  knocking  indeed!     If  a  man  were  porter  of 
hell-gate,  he  should  have  old  turning  the  key.,  seg. 

Like  a  ray  of  sunshine  on  a  stormy  day  which 
makes  everything  more  sombre  and  gloomy,  so  the 
Porter's  humor  contrasts  strikingly  with  the  tragic 
surroundings,    and   makes  them  sadder   and    more 


Macbeth  81 

terrifying.  This  is  its  dramatic  function,  and  to 
accomplish  this  Shakespeare  introduced  it  here. 

The  door,  finally,  is  opened.  One  after  another 
the  members  of  Duncan's  suite  enter.  Macduff 
goes  into  the  sleeping-chamber  of  Duncan,  and  sees 
the  bloody  corpse  of  the  King.  He  returns  and 
gives  the  alarm.  Macbeth  expresses  his  pretended 
surprise  and  grief  in  words  that  were  far  more  true 
than  either  he  or  any  one  present  knew: 

Had  I  but  died  an  hour  before  this  chance, 

I  had  lived  a  blessed  time;  for,  from  this  instant, 

There  's  nothing  serious  in  mortality:  seq. 

He  then  acknowledges  he  murdered  the  grooms. 
When  Macduff  asked  him  why  he  had  done  so,  he 
replied : 

Who  can  be  wise,  amazed,  temperate  and  furious, 

Loyal  and  neutral,  in  a  moment  ?     No  man: 

The  expedition  of  my  violent  love 

Outrun  the  pauser,  reason.     Here  lay  Duncan, 

His  silver  skin  laced  with  his  golden  blood; 

And  his  gash'd  stabs  look'd  like  a  breach  in  nature 

For  ruin's  wasteful  entrance:  there,  the  murderers, 

Steep'd  in  the  colours  of  their  trade,  their  daggers 

Unmannerly  breech'd  with  gore;  who  could  refrain, 

That  had  a  heart  to  love,  and  in  that  heart 

Courage  to  make  's  love  known  ? 

Malcolm  and  Donalbain  confer.  They  are  not  in 
doubt  as  to  the  perpetrator  of  the  deed.  They  re- 
alize the  danger  they  are  in  from  the  same  murderer, 
and    preserve   a  discreet   silence.     Lady    Macbeth 

6 


82  Shakespeare's  Plots 

faints.  Her  physical  nature  succumbs  to  the  fear- 
ful strain  to  which  it  has  been  subjected  by  her  iron 
will  and  dauntless  courage. 

All  make  their  exit  except  Malcolm  and  Donal- 
bain.  The  former  announces  his  determination  to 
go  to  England.  Shakespeare  in  this  foreshadows 
the  action  of  the  drama.  Donalbain  decides  to  go 
to  Ireland.  Malcolm  expresses  the  suspicions  and 
fears,  both  of  himself  and  brother: 

This  murderous  shaft  that  's  shot 
Hath  not  yet  lighted,  and  our  safest  way 
Is  to  avoid  the  aim.     Therefore,  to  horse; 
And  let  us  not  be  dainty  of  leave-taking, 
But  shift  away:  there  *s  warrant  in  that  theft 
Which  steals  itself  when  there  's  no  mercy  left. 

This  division  of  the  drama  ends  with  a  conversa- 
tion between  Ross  and  an  old  Man  and  Macduff, 
the  dramatic  purpose  of  which  is  to  convey  the  in- 
formation that 

't  is  most  like 
The  sovereignty  will  fall  upon  Macbeth. 

And  further  that 

He  is  already  named,  and  gone  to  Scone 
To  be  invested. 

Duncan's  body  has  been  conveyed  to  Colme-kill, 
there  to  be  interred  in  the  royal  burying-ground. 

The  first  step  in  Macbeth's  effort  to  secure  the 
crown  has  been  successfully  taken.  Duncan  has 
been  killed.     Malcolm,  the  Prince  of  Cumberland, 


Macbeth  83 

his  legitimate  successor,  has  fled.  Macbeth  has 
gone  to  Scone  to  be  crowned.  The  Macbeths  have 
brought  to  a  successful  consummation 

This  night's  great  business     .     .     . 

Which  shall  to  all  our  nights  and  days  to  come 

Give  solely  sovereign  sway  and  masterdom. 

CLIMAX 

HI.,   i-4 

Notwithstanding  Macbeth's  success  he  was 
neither  calm  nor  confident.  As  Angus  later  de- 
scribed him,  he  felt 

.  .  .  his  title 
Hang  loose  about  him,  like  a  giant's  robe 
Upon  a  dwarfish  thief. 

The  cause  of  his  disquietude  was  Banquo. 

To  be  thus  is  nothing; 
But  to  be  safely  thus.     Our  fears  in  Banquo 
Stick  deep. 

Before  he  murdered  Duncan  he  had  solicited  Ban- 
quo's  aid  upon  that  business.  Banquo,  whose  sus- 
picions were  fully  aroused,  promised  it  on  condition 
he  could  keep  his 

.     .     .     bosom  franchised  and  allegiance  clear. 

Macbeth  did  not  again  broach  the  subject,  but  pro- 
ceeded with  his  bloody  work  without  Banquo's 
assistance. 


84  Shakespeare's  Plots 

The  Climax  of  the  play  begins  with  a  soliloquy 
in  which  Banquo  discloses  his  belief  in  Macbeth's 
guilt: 

Thou  hast  it  now:  king,  Cawdor,  Glamis,  all, 
As  the  weird  women  promised,  and,  I  fear, 
Thou  play'dst  most  foully  for  *t. 

He  then  refers  to  the  prediction  of  the  Weird  Sis- 
ters, and,  basing  his  belief  on  the  fulfilment  of  the 
prediction  to  Macbeth,  questions  why  that  made  to 
himself  should  not  likewise  come  true.  His  reflec- 
tions are  brought  to  a  sudden  close  by  the  entrance 
of  Macbeth  and  Lady  Macbeth,  who  have  returned 
from  Scone,  where  they  have  been  crowned. 

Macbeth  greets  Banquo  cordially,  and  requests 
his  presence  at  a  solemn  supper  to  be  given  that  eve- 
ning.    He  then  inquires: 

Ride  you  this  afternoon  ? 

Is  't  far  you  ride  ? 
Banquo  replies: 

As  far,  my  lord,  as  will  fill  up  the  time 

'Twixt  this  and  supper:  go  not  my  horse  the  better, 

I  must  become  a  borrower  of  the  night 

For  a  dark  hour  or  twain. 

Macbeth  urges  him: 

Fail  not  our  feast. 

He  is  conscious  that  Banquo  suspects  him  of  the 


Macbeth  85 

murder  of  Duncan.   In  order  to  divert  that  suspicion 
Macbeth  then  refers  to  Malcolm  and  Donalbain  as 

.     .     .     our  bloody  cousins     .     .     .     bestow'd 
In  England  and  in  Ireland,  not  confessing 
Their  cruel  parricide. 

Before  Banquo  takes  his  leave  Macbeth  makes  a 
final  inquiry : 

Goes  Fleance  with  you  ? 

Banquo  replies  in  the  affirmative. 

Macbeth  then  dismisses  all  the  company  but  an 
Attendant.     As  soon  as  they  are  left  alone  he  says: 

Sirrah,  a  word  with  you:  attend  those  men 
Our  pleasure  ? 

He  orders  the  Attendant  to  bring  the  men.  While 
he  is  alone  he  reveals,  in  a  soliloquy,  his  thoughts, 
feelings,  purposes,  the  expression  of  which  in  action 
forms  the  Climax  of  the  drama: 

Our  fears  in  Banquo 
Stick  deep;  and  in  his  royalty  of  nature 
Reigns  that  which  would  be  fear'd:  't  is  much  he  dares; 
And,  to  that  dauntless  temper  of  his  mind, 
He  hath  a  wisdom  that  doth  guide  his  valour 
To  act  in  safety.     There  is  none  but  he 
Whose  being  I  do  fear:  and,  under  him, 
My  Genius  is  rebuked;  as,  it  is  said, 
Mark  Antony's  was  by  Caesar.     He  chid  the  sisters 
When  first  they  put  the  name  of  king  upon  me, 
And  bade  them  speak  to  him:  then  prophet-like 


86  Shakespeare's  Plots 

They  hail'd  him  father  to  a  line  of  kings: 

Upon  my  head  they  placed  a  fruitless  crown, 

And  put  a  barren  sceptre  in  my  gripe, 

Thence  to  be  wrench'd  with  an  unlineal  hand, 

No  son  of  mine  succeeding.     If  't  be  so, 

For  Banquo's  issue  have  I  filed  my  mind; 

For  them  the  gracious  Duncan  have  I  murder'd; 

Put  rancours  in  the  vessel  of  my  peace 

Only  for  them;  and  mine  eternal  jewel 

Given  to  the  common  enemy  of  man, 

To  make  them  kings,  the  seed  of  Banquo  kings! 

Rather  than  so,  come  fate  into  the  list, 

And  champion  me  to  the  utterance! 

Fate  accepts  the  challen^u-.  It  enters  the  lists, 
"  the  enclosed  ground  in  which  combats  are 
fought  "  (Schmidt),  and  champions  Macbeth  to  the 
utterance,  i.  e.,  fights  with  him  to  the  death.  Fate 
wins.     From  this  time  Macbeth  is  doomed. 

The  two  Murderers  for  whom  Macbeth  had  sent 
enter.  This  was  not  the  first  time  they  and  Mac- 
beth had  met  and  conferred.  He  refers  to  the 
murder  of  Banquo  which  had  been  previously  con- 
sidered by  them.  They  assent  to  Macbeth's  prop- 
osition: 

We  shall,  my  lord, 
Perform  what  you  command  us. 

Macbeth  gives  them  their  final  instructions  as  to 
where  they  shall  plant  themselves,  and  then,  after 
speaking  of  the  murder  of  Banquo,  adds: 

.     .     .     and  with  him — 
To  leave  no  rubs  nor  botches  in  the  work — 


Macbeth  87 

Fleance  his  son,  that  keeps  him  company, 
Whose  absence  is  no  less  material  to  me 
Than  is  his  father's,  must  embrace  the  fate 
Of  that  dark  hour. 

They  make  their  exit.    Macbeth  expresses -his  grati- 
fication  at  the  result  of  the  conference: 

It  is  concluded.     Banquo,  thy  soul's  flight, 
If  it  find  he  iven,  must  find  it  out  to-night. 

Macbeth's  soli!  [uies  reveal  in  him  a  gradual  and 
consistent  development  in  wickedness.  Before 
murdering  Duncan  he  questioned,  vacillated,  ex- 
perienced  a  severe  mental  and  emotional  struggle. 
In  the  case  of  Banquo  his  decision  is  quickly  made, 
his  plans  promptly  and  carefully  matured,  and  exe- 
cuted without  wavering. 

A  further  evidence  of  this  Character-Growth  is 
that  in  the  case  of  Banquo  he  acted  alone.  Lady 
Macbeth  was  particeps  criminu  in  the  murder  of 
Duncan.  Of  that  of  Banquo  she  was  ignorant  un- 
til after  its  commission.  Macbeth  has  attained  his 
majority  in  crime;  he  stands  and  walks  and  acts 
alone. 

In  another  room  in  the  castle  Lady  Macbeth  in  a 
soliloquy  gives  expression  to  sentiments  which  are 
similar  to  those  just  uttered  by  Macbeth.  She,  like 
him,  realizes  the  danger  that  threatens  them  from 
the  loyal  and  suspicious  Banquo,  and  from  his  son 
Fleance.  Macbeth  now  enters.  She  perceives  he 
is  conscience-stricken;  is  the  victim  of  fear  and  re- 
morse. She  disguises  her  own  feelings,  and  im- 
mediately attempts  to  cheer  him: 


88  Shakespeare's  Plots 

How  now,  my  lord!  why  do  you  keep  alone, 

Of  sorriest  fancies  your  companions  making; 

Using  those  thoughts  which  should  indeed  have  died 

With  them  they  think  on  ?     Things  without  all  remedy 

Should  be  without  regard:  what  's  done  is  done. 

Macbeth  in  his  reply  reveals  the  terrible  mental  and 
emotional  strain  to  which  he  is  being  subjected,  and 
also  his  knowledge  of  the  danger  that  menaced 
them. 

We  have  scotch'd  the  snake,  not  kill'd  it: 

She  '11  close  and  be  herself,  whilst  our  poor  malice 

Remains  in  danger  of  her  former  tooth. 

But  let  the  frame  of  things  disjoint,   both  the  worlds 

suffer, 
Ere  we  will  eat  our  meal  in  fear,  and  sleep 
In  the  affliction  of  these  terrible  dreams 
That  shake  us  nightly;  better  be  with  the  dead, 
Whom  we,  to  gain  our  peace,  have  sent  to  peace, 
Than  on  the  torture  of  the  mind  to  lie 
In  restless  ecstasy.     Duncan  is  in  his  grave; 
After  life's  fitful  fever  he  sleeps  well; 
Treason  has  done  his  worst:  nor  steel,  nor  poison, 
Malice  domestic,  foreign  levy,  nothing, 
Can  touch  him  further. 

Lady  Macbeth  tries  to  soothe  him.  She  urges  him 
to 

.     .     .     sleek  o'er  your  rugged  looks; 
Be  bright  and  jovial  among  your  guests  to-night. 

He  then  refers  to  the  banquet,  and  requests  Lady 
Macbeth  to  give  Jianquo  a  prominent  seat  thereat: 


Macbeth  89 

Present  him  eminence,  both  with  eye  and  tongue. 

While  there  is  grave  danger  to  be  apprehended  from 
Banquo  and  Fleance,  Macbeth  tells  his  wife: 

There  's  comfort  yet;  they  are  assailable; 
Then  be  thou  jocund:  ere  the  bat  hath  flown 
His  cloister'd  flight,  ere  to  black  Hecate's  summons 
The  shard-borne  beetle  with  his  drowsy  hums 
Hath  rung  night's  yawning  peal,  there  shall  be  done 
A  deed  of  dreadful  note. 

When  she  inquires  more  particularly  as  to  his  plans, 
he  affectionately,  yet  firmly,  declines  to  answer: 

Be  innocent  of  the  knowledge,  dearest  chuck, 
Till  thou  applaud  the  deed;  seq. 

The  next  Scene  is  very  brief.  It  describes  the 
murder  of  Banquo  and  escape  of  Fleance.  As  they 
were  returning  from  their  ride  they  were  set  upon  in 
A  Park  near  the  Palace.  In  order  to  make  assurance 
double  sure  Macbeth  had  dispatched  a  third  mur- 
derer to  join  the  other  two.  Who  he  was  we  know 
not.  It  may  have  been  Macbeth  himself.  More 
likely  it  was  simply  a  confidential  and  trusty  fol- 
lower. 

Notwithstanding  all  his  carefulness  the  plot  was 
only  partially  successful.  As  the  third  murderer 
describes  it: 

There  's  but  one  down;  the  son  is  fled. 
To  which  the  second  murderer  responds: 

We  have  lost 
Best  half  of  our  affair. 


90  Shakespeare's  Plots 

The  Climax  ends  with  the  banquet  at  which  the 
nobles  of  Scotland  have  gathered  to  do  honor  to 
their  new  King  and  Queen.  They  have  hardly 
taken  their  seats  at  the  table  when  the  First  Mur- 
derer appears  at  the  door.  He  informs  Macbeth  that 
Banquo's  throat  is  cut,  and  that  Fleance  is  'scaped. 
The  effect  of  this  news  on  Macbeth  is  instant,  pro- 
found.     In  an  aside  he  says: 

Then  comes  my  fit  again:  I  had  else  been  perfect, 

Whole  as  the  marble,  founded  as  the  rock, 

As  broad  and  general  as  the  casing  air: 

But  now  I  am  cabin'd,  cribb'd,  confined,  bound  in 

To  saucy  doubts  and  fears. 

A  moment  later  he  adds: 

There  the  grown  serpent  lies;  the  worm  that  's  fled 
Hath  nature  that  in  time  will  venom  breed, 
No  teeth  for  the  present. 

He  disturbs  the  feast.  Lady  Macbeth  gently  chides 
him. 

The  Ghost  of  Banquo  enters,  and  sits  in  Mac- 
beth's  place.  Without  waiting  for  it  to  charge  him 
with  the  murder  Macbeth  addresses  it: 

Thou  canst  not  say  I  did  it:  never  shake 
Thy  gory  locks  at  me. 

Lady  Macbeth  begs  the  company  not  to  note  him, 
and  then  in  a  tone  sharp  and  decisive,  like  the  ex- 
plosion of  a  bomb,  says  to  Macbeth: 

Are  you  a  man  ? 


Macbeth  91 

Macbeth  is  entirely  unnerved,  and  on  the  reappear- 
ance of  the  Ghost  says: 

Avaunt!  and  quit  my  sight!  let  the  earth  hide  thee! 
Thy  bones  are  marrowless,  thy  blood  is  cold; 
Thou  hast  no  speculation  in  those  eyes 
Which  thou  dost  glare  with:  seq. 

Again  the  Ghost  vanishes.  Lady  Macbeth  dismisses 
the  guests.  She  does  not  chide  or  taunt  her  hus- 
band. Rather  she  soothes  him.  Macbeth's  com- 
posure returns. 

The  Climax  ends  with  a  reference  to  Macduff, 
which  points  to  him  as  the  one  by  whom  the  Reso- 
lution of  the  drama  is  to  be  effected. 

Macb.  How  say'st  thou,  that  Macduff  denies  his  person 
At  our  great  bidding? 

Lady  M.  Did  you  send  to  him,  sir  ? 

Macb.   I  hear  it  by  the  way;  but  I  will  send: 
There  's  not  a  one  of  them  but  in  his  house 
I  keep  a  servant  fee'd. 

Shakespeare  then,  in  a  conversation  between 
Lady  Macbeth  and  her  husband,  gives  us  one  more 
glimpse  into  the  mind  and  soul  of  Macbeth.  His 
plans  and  his  emotional  condition  are  revealed. 

•  Macb.  I  will  to-morrow, 

And  betimes  I  will,  to  the  weird  sisters: 
More  shall  they  speak;  for  now  I  am  bent  to  know, 
By  the  worst  means,  the  worst.     For  mine  own  good 
All  causes  shall  give  way:  I  am  in  blood 
Stepp'd  in  so  far  that,  should  I  wade  no  more, 
Returning  were  as  tedious  as  go  o'er: 


92  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Strange  things  I  have  in  head,  that  will  to  hand; 
Which  must  be  acted  ere  they  may  be  scann'd. 

Lady  M.  You  lack  the  season  of  all  natures,  sleep. 

Macb.  Come,  we  '11  to  sleep.  My  strange  and  self-abuse 
Is  the  initiate  fear  that  wants  hard  use: 
We  are  yet  but  young  in  deed. 

The  murder  of  Banquo,  the  escape  of  Fleance,  is  the 
acme  of  the  Climax.  Macbeth's  vaulting  ambition, 
which,  up  to  this  time,  has  steadily  moved  upward, 
reaches  its  highest  point,  overleaps  itself  and  falls  on 
the  other. 

In  this  play  Shakespeare  follows  his  usual  method 
and  puts  the  Climax  at  the  centre  of  the  play.  It 
is  the  habit  of  thoughtless  critics  to  decry  Shake- 
speare's  architectonics,  to  assert  that  in  his  plays 
the  Plot  is  secondary.  Shakespeare  was  a  great  ar- 
tist, and  he  instinctively  recognized  the  fact  that  in 
a  drama,  as  in  every  other  art-product,  structure  is 
organic.  In  it  the  imagination  bodies  forth  the  forms 
of  things  unknown.  Between  the  thought  and  the 
form  in  which  it  is  bodied  forth,  the  connection  is 
vital,  essential.  An  analysis  of  Shakespeare's  plays 
reveals  the  fact  that  most  of  them,  notably  those 
which  were  written  in  the  maturity  of  his  powers, 
are,  in  the  highest  degree,  artistic  and  symmetrical. 
They  balance  around  a  common  centre.  This  is 
literally  true  of  Macbeth. 

I. — The  acme  of  the  Climax  is  near  the  mechan- 
ical centre.  The  divisions  of  this  play,  as  they  are 
found  in  Folio  I.,  are  5  Acts,  28  Scenes,  21 14  verses.1 

1  As  there  is  no  line  numeration  in  Folio  I.,  I  give  that  of  the  Cam- 
bridge edition. 


Macbeth  93 

The  murder  of  Banquo,  the  escape  of  Fleance, 
which  is  the  acme  of  the  Climax,  are  very  near  to 
the  exact  centre  of  the  play.  They  are  at  the  end 
of  Act  III.,  Scene  3,  that  is,  the  middle  of  the 
middle  Act,  the  end  of  14  out  of  28  Scenes,  at  verse 
1034  out  of  21 14  verses.  The  play,  therefore,  is 
perfectly  symmetrical,  for  "  symmetry  is  an  effect 
produced  by  a  figure  when  all  its  parts  on  one  side 
of  a  line,  drawn  perpendicularly  through  its  central 
point,  balance  those  on  the  other  side  of  this  line."  ' 
This  effect  was  not  attained  by  Shakespeare  as  the 
result  of  careful  reckoning.  Shakespeare  was  writ- 
ing a  great  play,  and  writing  it  very  hurriedly.  The 
Plot,  in  every  part,  manifests  intelligent  design  and 
is  well-nigh  perfect.  Its  perfection  is  manifested, 
amongst  other  things,  by  the  location  of  the  Climax. 
In  placing  this  where  he  did,  Shakespeare  was  guided 
not  by  any  mathematical  calculation,  but  by  his  po- 
etic insight,  his  dramatic  genius. 

Genius  has  been  scientifically  defined  by  Hart- 
mann  as  "  the  activity  and  efflux  of  the  intellect 
freed  from  the  domination  of  the  conscious  will."  * 
In  perfect  accord  with  this  is  Socrates'  dictum  in 
Ion.*  "  All  good  poets,  epic  as  well  as  lyric,  com- 
pose their  beautiful  poems  not  by  art,  but  because 
they  are  inspired  and  possessed."  Like  Shelley's 
skylark,  the  great  poet  pours  out  his 

.     .     .     full  heart 
In  profuse  strains  of  unpremeditated  art. 

'Raymond,  Genesis  of  Art.  Form,  pp.  154,  155. 
1  Philosophy  of  the  Unconscious,  translation  of  Coupland,  vol.  I. 
pp.  269-292.     Also  cf .  Rosanquet,  History  of  /Esthetic,  p.  279. 
•Jowett,  Plato,  vol.  i.,  pp.  501,  I0*' 


94  Shakespeare's  Plots 

In  this  play  Shakespeare  "  builded  better  than  he 
knew."  In  placing  the  Climax  near  the  mechanical 
centre,  he  was  guided  not  by  calculation  but  by 
inspiration. 

II. — The  centre  of  the  play  is  also  the  climax  of 
Lady  Macbeth's  career.  Immediately  after  the 
murder  of  Banquo  she  retires,  and  never  again  ap- 
pears as  an  active  force  in  the  drama.  Her  work  is 
ended.  Never  again  does  she  urge  or  counsel  or  aid 
Macbeth.  From  this  time  onward  he  pursues  his 
career  alone.  True,  the  dramatist  brings  Lady 
Macbeth  forward  in  the  last  Act.  She,  however,  is 
perfectly  passive.  She  is  unfitted,  both  mentally 
and  physically,  to  do  anything.  Her  warning  to 
Macbeth  has  been  grimly  prophetic  of  her  own  fate: 

These  deeds  must  not  be  thought 
After  these  ways;  so,  it  will  make  us  mad. 

Remorse  has  driven  her  to  insanity.  Her  mind, 
which  is  full  of  thick-coming  fancies,  recalls  the 
events  of  the  past.  Her  heart,  which  is  sorely 
charged,  finds  relief  in  a  sigh  which  is  full  of  pathos. 
Death  soon  after  comes  to  her  succor.  But  long 
before  this  she  has  ceased  to  take  any  part  in  the 
movement  of  the  drama.  The  Climax  of  the  play 
marks  also  the  climax  of  her  career. 

III. — The  death  of  Banquo  and  escape  of  Fleance 
is  also  the  climax  of  Macbeth's  life.     It  is 

.     .     .     the  highest  point  of  all  his  greatness; 
And,  from  that  full  meridian  of  his  glory, 
He  hastes  now  to  his  setting. 


Macbeth  95 

P>om  this  time  forward,  the  action  of  the  drama,  so 
far  as  it  relates  to  Macbeth,  changes  its  course  and 
moves  in  another  direction.  Previously  it  has  been 
an  ascent;  subsequently  it  is  a  descent.  The  con- 
spiracy against  Banquo  and  Fleance,  which  Mac- 
beth intended  should  carry  his  fortunes  still  higher, 
causes  them  to  decline.  Instead  of  making  his  posi- 
tion on  the  throne  more  secure,  as  he  hoped,  it  is 
the  beginning  of  insecurity.  This  crime  carried 
within  itself  its  own  Nemesis,  Macbeth  perceived 
this,  and  when  the  murderer  said  to  him,  Fleance  is 
'scaped,  he  foresees  the  danger  that  that  escape 
presages.     He  is  profoundly  disquieted: 

But  now  I  am  cabin'd,  cribb'd,  confined,  bound  in 
To  saucy  doubts  and  fears. 

These  saucy  doubts  and  fears  were  but  the  fore- 
shadowing of  the  Catastrophe,  which  is  reached  at 
the  conclusion  of  the  drama. 

If  we  examine  more  in  detail  the  position  of  this 
Climax  in  its  relation  to  Macbeth,  we  shall  find  it  a 
marked  example  of  what  Swinburne  '  calls  Shake- 
speare's "  incomparable  instinct  for  abstinence  from 
the  wrong  thing,  as  well  as  achievement  of  the 
right."  Most  dramatists  would  have  made  the  cor- 
onation the  climax  of  Macbeth's  fortune.  With 
that  event  the  predictions  of  the  Weird  Sisters  have 
been  fulfilled.  The  ambition  of  Macbeth  has  been 
gratified  to  the  fullest  and  highest  degree.  But  it 
is  a  significant  fact  that  Shakespeare  does  not  make 
the   successful   outcome  of  the   plot   to   seize   the 

1  A  Study  of  Shakespeare,  p.  189. 


96  Shakespeare's  Plots 

throne  the  climax  of  Macbeth's  career.  In  order  to 
make  his  fall  more  profound  and  fatal,  he  is  allowed 
to  move  onward  and  upward  on  the  path  of  success. 
He  determines  to  make  assurance  double  sure  by 
murdering  Banquo  and  Fleance.  He  succeeded  in 
the  case  of  Banquo,  failed  in  that  of  Fleance;  was 
partially  successful,  partially  unsuccessful.  It  was 
the  dividing  line  between  this  success  and  this 
failure  which  Shakespeare  has  made  the  climax  of 
Macbeth's  life.  Up  to  this  time  Macbeth  had 
accomplished  successfully  everything  he  had  at- 
tempted. After  this  time  he  fails  in  everything. 
Previously,  unbroken  success,  subsequently,  un- 
broken failure,  attend  him.  From  this  time  forth 
the  one  effort  of  his  life  is  to  prevent  the  fulfilment 
of  the  Weird  Sisters'  prediction  to  Banquo.  And 
everything  that  he  does  with  this  intention  not  only 
ends  in  failure,  but  also  aids  in  producing  that  fail- 
ure. The  Climax  of  this  play  is  the  climax  of  Mac- 
beth's fortunes.  And  the  position  of  that,  not  after 
the  seizure  of  the  throne,  but  after  the  murder  of 
Banquo,  is  a  marked  expression  of  Shakespeare's 
genius  in  constructing  the  Plot. 

FALL 
III.,  5-IV.,  finis 
In  his  plays  Shakespeare  in 

Every  line 
Opens,  by  just  degrees,  his  whole  design.' 

One  of  their  cardinal  qualities,  as  Coleridge  has 
pointed  out,  is  "  expectation  in  preference  to  sur- 

1  Horace,  Ars  Poetica. 


Macbeth  97 

prise.  It  is  like  the  true  reading  of  the  passage, 
God  said,  Let  there  be  light,  and  there  was  light ' ; 
not  there  was  light.  As  the  feeling  with  which  we 
startle  at  a  shooting  star,  compared  with  that  of 
watching  the  sunrise  at  the  pre-established  moment, 
such  and  so  low  is  surprise  compared  with  expecta* 
tion."  '  In  this  play  the  great  dramatist  makes  the 
transition  from  the  Climax  to  the  Fall  unforced  and 
gradual  by  means  of  an  episode.  In  it  every  inci- 
dent tends  directly  toward  a  gradual  unfolding  of 
the  Plot. 

The  beginning  of  the  Fall  of  this  play  (so  much 
as  is  contained  in  III.,  5  and  6,  and  IV.,  Scene  I, 
to  line  135)  is  an  episode.  The  movement  of  the 
action  is  suspended.  It  is  technically  a  Return  or 
Revolution.  It  is  both  retrospective  and  prospec- 
tive.    It  may  be  divided  into  two  parts: 

I. — The  return  of  the  Witches,  who  had  disap- 
peared at  the  beginning  of  the  action,  and  Mac- 
beth's  interview  with  them. 

II. — The  conversation  between  Lennox  and  an- 
other Lord  (III. ,  6),  in  which  the  events  of  the  fore- 
part of  the  drama  are  rehearsed,  and  those  of  the 
latter  part  are  foreshadowed.  Shakespeare,  by 
means  of  this  conversation,  makes  the  Plot  more 
lucid  and  vivid.  The  memory  of  the  spectator  is 
refreshed,  his  interest  is  intensified. 

In  the  re-introduction  of  the  Witches,  and  in  the 
conversation  between  Lennox  and  another  Lord, 
Shakespeare  again  makes  use  of  Repetition,  Altera- 
tion, Alternation. 

•  Lectures  on  Shakespeare,  Bohn's  edition,  p.  237. 
* 


98  Shakespeare's  Plots 

The  play  opens  with  the  appearance  of  the 
Witches.  As  the  result  of  their  prediction  to  Mac- 
beth, the  Main  Action  begins  and  progresses  to  a 
Climax.  That  having  been  reached,  they  now  ap- 
pear a  second  time  to  Macbeth,  at  the  pit  of  Ach~ 
eron.  On  the  conclusion  of  this  second  interview  the 
movement  of  the  drama  is  resumed,  and  proceeds 
rapidly  and  uninterruptedly  to  the  Catastrophe. 

The  conversation  between  Lennox  and  another 
Lord  is  also  an  example  of  Repetition,  Alteration, 
Alternation.  Lennox  rehearses  the  events  of  the 
fore  part  of  the  drama ;  he  repeats  his  former  speeches, 
but  with  an  alteration.'  This  speech  has  been  so 
misunderstood  that  critics  have  rejected  it  as  an  in- 
terpolation. In  my  judgment,  it  is  undoubtedly 
authentic.  It  is,  and  was  intended  by  Shakespeare 
to  be,  ironical.'  While  Lennox  voices  the  current 
rumors  which  point  to  Malcolm  and  Donalbain  as 
the  murderer  of  Duncan,  and  to  Fleance  as  the  mur- 
derer of  Banquo,  he  really  expresses  the  utter  un- 
reasonableness of  these  suspicion  result  of 
that,  the  hearer  is  led  to  recogni/  kl  mur- 
derer in  Macbeth. 

The  gracious  Duncan 
Was  pitied  of  Macbeth:  marry,  he  was  dead: 
And  the  right-valiant  Banquo  walk'd  too  late, 
Whom,  you  may  say,  if  't  please  you,  Fleance  kill'd, 
For  Fleance  fled:  men  must  not  walk  too  late:  sea. 

Lenox,  having  thus  referred  to  the  past,  and 
thrown  a  flood  of  light  on  it,  now  directs  attention 

1  Cf.  Moulton,  Shakespeare  as  a  Dramatic  Artist,  pp.  128,  129. 


Macbeth  99 

to  the  future,  and  foreshadows  the  outcome  of  the 
drama.     As  Duncan  is  dead,  his  son, 

From  whom  this  tyrant  holds  the  due  of  birth, 

looms  up  as  the  hope  of 

This  our  suffering  country 
Under  a  hand  accursed! 

Associated  with  him  in  this  work  is  to  be  Macduff. 
Malcolm  and  Macduff  thus  become  the  complemen- 
tal  characters  to  Duncan  and  Banquo.  When  the 
latter  are  removed  by  violent  deaths,  the  former  ap- 
pear. Duncan  and  Banquo  were  the  principal  char- 
acters in  the  Sub-Action  of  the  fore  part  of  the  play. 
Malcolm  and  Macduff  fill  the  same  position  in  the 
after  part  of  the  drama,  and  are  the  principal  agents 
in  producing  the  Catastrophe. 

The  most  important  part  of  the  Fall  is  Macbeth's 
interview  with  the  Witches  (IV.,  i).  As  before  re- 
marked, they  appear  on  two  separate  occasions: 
once  at  the  opening  of  the  play,  before  the  Main 
Action  begins;  again,  at  the  conclusion  of  the  Cli- 
max, while  the  Main  Action  has  been  temporarily 
stopped,  and  before  the  Fall  and  Catastrophe  com- 
mence. 

Their  relation  to  the  drama  is  restricted  to  their 
speeches.  They  perform  no  deeds,  they  take  no 
direct  part  in  the  movement  of  the  action.  Their 
function  in  the  play  is  limited  to  words.  And  yet, 
as  King  Henry  VIII.  says,  while 

Words  are  no  deeds, 
*T  is  a  kind  of  good  deed  to  say  well. 


ioo  Shakespeare's  Plots 

The  converse  of  this  is  true:  to  say  ill  is  a  kind  of 
bad  deed.  The  latter  is  true  of  the  Witches.  Their 
words  are  a  kind  of  ill  deed,  the  influence  of  which 
is  both  malign  and  potent.  The  truths  they  have 
conveyed  to  Macbeth  become  to  him  the 

.     .     .     happy  prologues  to  the  swelling  act 
Of  the  imperial  theme. 

When,  in  a  letter,  Macbeth  reports  their  prophecy 
to  Lady  Macbeth,  she  is 

Transported  beyond 
This  ignorant  present,  and  feels  now 
The  future  in  the  instant. 

Unlike  Macbeth,  she  has  not  seen,  she  has  not 
heard  the  Weird  Sisters,  and  yet,  at  the  very  be- 
ginning of  the  play,  she  is  brought  under  their 
influence.  And  that  influence  surrounds  and  domi- 
nates her  as  long  as  she  takes  an  active  part  in  the 
drama.  Immediately  on  the  receipt  of  Macbeth's 
letter,  she  recognizes  the  situation: 

Glamis  thou  art,  and  Cawdor; 

and  then  instantly  resolves, 

And  shalt  be 
What  thou  art  promised. 

The  message  of  the  Witches  on  their  first  appear- 
ance was  not  restricted  to  Macbeth.  They  also  ad- 
dressed Banquo.  The  effect  of  this  Banquo  reveals 
in  his  soliloquy: 

Thou  hast  it  now  :  King,  Cawdor,  Glamis,  all  ;  seq. 


Macbeth  101 

As  the  indirect  result  of  the  Witches'  prophecies, 
the  Main  Action  of  the  drama  begins  and  moves 
forward  to  its  Climax.  After  that,  during  an  epi- 
sode, while  the  movement  is  temporarily  stopped, 
the  Witches  again  appear,  and  as  the  consequence 
of  the  words  uttered  to  Macbeth  at  this  interview, 
the  action  again  begins,  and  moves  forward  to  the 
end  of  the  Catastrophe. 

The  relation  in  which  the  Witches  stand  to  the 
drama  is  what  is  technically  known  as  the  Environ- 
ing Action.  Although  they  appear  but  seldom, — 
only  on  two  occasions, — and  although  they  do  no- 
thing, yet  their  presence  seems  to  hover  around  the 
Macbeths,  and  to  exert  on  them  an  influence  which 
is  continuous,  powerful,  pernicious,  fatal.  The 
prophecy  made  by  them  to  Macbeth  develops  in 
him  the  determination  to  seize  the  crown.  After 
Duncan  has  been  murdered,  and  Macbeth  is  seated 
on  the  throne,  he  recalls  the  words  addressed  by  the 
Witches  to  Banquo: 

He  chid  the  sisters,  seq. 

The  result  of  Macbeth's  reflection  is: 

It  is  concluded:  Banquo,  thy  soul's  flight, 
If  it  find  heaven,  must  find  it  out  to-night. 
Banquo  was  murdered.     But  even  then  there  is 

no  cessation  to  the  puissant  and  malign  influence  of 

the  Witches.     Macbeth  says: 

I  will  to-morrow, 
And  betimes  I  will,  to  the  weird  sisters; 
More  shall  they  speak,  for  now  I  am  bent  to  know. 
By  the  worst  means,  the  worst. 


102  Shakespeare's  Plots 

This  second  interview  takes  place  and  its  result 
was,  as  described  by  Hecate,  to 

Draw  [Macbeth]  on  to  his  confusion: 
He  shall  spurn  fate,  scorn  death,  and  bear 
His  hopes  'bove  wisdom,  grace  and  fear: 
And  you  all  know  security 
Is  mortals'  chiefest  enemy. 

All  of  this  was  literally  fulfilled.  When  Macbeth 
was  informed  of  the  advance  of  the  English  power, 
he  said : 

Bring  me  no  more  reports;  let  them  fly  all: 

Till  Birnam  wood  remove  to  Dunsinane, 

I  cannot  taint  with  fear.     What's  the  boy  Malcolm  ? 

Was  he  not  born  of  woman  ?     The  spirits  that  know 

All  mortal  consequences  have  pronounced  me  thus: 

"  Fear  not,  Macbeth;  no  man  that  's  born  of  woman 

Shall  e'er  have  power  upon  thee'  "     Then  fly,   false 

thanes, 
And  mingle  with  the  English  epicures. 

When  Macduff  informs  him  that  he  was  from  his 
mother  s  womb  untimely  ripped,  the  truth  dawns  on 
Macbeth. 

Accursed  be  that  tongue  that  tells  me  so, 
For  it  hath  cow'd  my  better  part  of  man! 

He  becomes  furious,  desperate: 

Though  Birnam  wood  be  come  to  Dunsinane, 
And  thou  opposed,  being  of  no  woman  born, 
Yet  I  will  try  the  last. 


Macbeth  103 

Thus,  like  a  soldier,  fighting  bravely  and  defi- 
antly, Macbeth  died.  And  all  the  while,  from  his 
first  appearance  to  his  death,  more  or  less,  under 
the  influence  of 

.     .     .     these  juggling  fiends,     .     .     . 
That  palter  with  us  in  a  double  sense; 
That  keep  the  word  of  promise  to  our  ear, 
And  break  it  to  our  hope. 

The  thanes  fly  from  him.     He  defies  fate. 

The  mind  I  sway  by  and  the  heart  I  bear 
Shall  never  sag  with  doubt  nor  shake  with  fear. 

I  will  not  be  afraid  of  death  and  bane 
Till  Birnam  forest  come  to  Dunsinane. 

Hardly  were  these  words  uttered  when  a  Messen- 
ger reported : 

As  I  did  stand  my  watch  upon  the  hill, 

I  look'd  toward  Birnam,  and  anon,  methought 

The  wood  began  to  move. 

Not  till  he  heard  this  did  he  begin  to  sag  with 
doubt.     Then  he  said : 

I  pull  in  resolution  and  begin 

To  doubt  the  equivocation  of  the  fiend 

That  lies  like  truth;  "  Fear  not,  till  Birnam  wood 

Do  come  to  Dunsinane  ":  and  now  a  wood 

Comes  toward  Dunsinane. 

His  courage,  however,  revives.  At  the  very  last, 
when  he  meets  Macduff  on  the  battle-field,  he  de. 
fies  him: 


104  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Thou  losest  labour: 
As  easy  mayst  thou  the  intrenchant  air 
With  thy  keen  sword  impress  as  make  me  bleed: 
Let  fall  thy  blade  on  vulnerable  crests; 
I  bear  a  charmed  life,  which  must  not  yield 
To  one  of  woman  born. 

The  Weird  Sisters  from  the  very  opening  to  the 
conclusion  of  the  play  hover  around.  Without 
taking  any  direct  part  in  the  action,  simply  by  their 
words  they  exert  an  influence  which,  while  invisi- 
ble, is  all-powerful.  They  aid  indirectly  in  bringing 
the  drama  first  to  a  Climax,  afterward  to  a  Catas- 
trophe. They  constitute  in  this  play  the  Environ- 
ing Action. 

Still  another  dramatic  function  is  performed  by 
them.     Speaking  of  them,  Banquo  said: 

If  there  come  truth  from  them — 

As  upon  thee,  Macbeth,  their  speeches  shine — 

Why,  by  the  verities  on  thee  made  good, 

May  they  not  be  my  oracles  as  well 

And  set  me  up  in  hope  ? 

The  Oracular  Action  was  a  favorite  device  of  the 
Greek  dramatists.  It  was  founded  on  the  belief 
that  destiny  ruled  the  universe,  and  that  the  reve- 
lation of  this  destiny  was  made  by  oracles,  e.  g.% 
Oracle  of  Delphi.  These  revelations  were  very  de- 
ceptive. They  were  true,  but  were  so  disguised 
as  to  be  mysterious  and  misleading.  They  were 
riddles.  A  perfect  example  of  the  oracular  drama 
is  the  CEdipus  of  Sophocles.  What  the  oracle  was 
in  the  Greek  dramas,  that  the  Weird  Sisters  were 


Macbeth  105 

in  this  play.  There  was  nothing  comic  or  grotesque 
about  them.  They  who  so  think  entirely  miscon- 
ceive them.  They  were  the  personification  of  fate 
and  metaphysical  aid.  They  were  weird,  terrible, 
sublime. 

It  is  doubtful  if  Shakespeare  ever  read  a  single 
Greek  drama,  so  that  in  introducing  Oracular  Ac- 
tion into  this  play  he  was  not  a  servile  imitator  of 
the  Greek  dramatists.  Rather  he  based  his  method 
on  human  experience,  on  the  uncertainty  and  mys- 
tery which  attend  the  life  of  every  one.  Hamlet 
expresses  the  idea: 

Our  indiscretion  sometimes  serves  us  well, 

When  our  deep  plots  do  pall;  and  that  should  teach  us 

There  's  a  divinity  that  shapes  our  ends, 

Rough-hew  them  how  we  will. 

The  oracular  announcement  made  by  the  Weird 
Sisters  to  Macbeth  was  twofold : 

I. — He  should  be  King.  II.— He  should  be  suc- 
ceeded by  Banquo's  issue. 

The  first  had  been  fulfilled.  Macbeth  devotes  all 
his  energies  to  prevent  the  fulfilment  of  the  second. 
He  meets  the  Weird  Sisters  and  propounds  the  one 
question  which  torments  him: 

Shall  Banquo's  issue  ever 
Reign  in  this  kingdom  ? 

They  reply,  reply  truly  (for  every  prediction  is 
fulfilled  literally),  and  yet  Macbeth  is  deceived. 
Their  words  are  ironical.  They  say  one  thing,  they 
mean  another.  This  is  a  characteristic  of  the  oracle. 


106  Shakespeare's  Plots 

It  is  always  in  the  form  of  irony.  The  honest  and 
true  Banquo  recognized  this  quality  in  the  first 
message : 

But  't  is  strange; 
And  oftentimes,  to  win  us  to  our  harm, 
The  instruments  of  darkness  tell  us  truths, 
Win  us  with  honest  trifles,  to  betray  's 
In  deepest  consequence. 

A  profound  irony  permeates  the  very  structure  of 
this  drama.  Macbeth  was  deceived  and  betrayed. 
He 

laughed  to  scorn 
The  power  of  man. 

Great    Birnam    wood    shall    never    come    to    high 
Dunsinane  hill,  for 

Who  can  impress  the  forest,  bid  the  tree 
Unfix  his  earth-bound  root  ? 

The  result  is  he 

tells  pale-hearted  fear  it  lies, 
And  sleeps  in  spite  of  thunder. 

This  second  message  of  the  Weird  Sisters  is  orac- 
ular. It  foretells;  it  is  true;  it  deceives.  Mac- 
beth, under  its  influence,  is  lulled  into  that  security 
which 

Is  mortals'  chiefest  enemy. 

Urged  onward  by  its  impetus,  with  his  demoniac 
ambition  intensified  to  the  degree  of  desperation, 
he  starts  forward  on  the  course  of  conduct  which 
ends  in  the  failure  of  all  his  plans,  and  in  his  own 


Macbeth  107 

death  at  the  hand  of  the  very  man  against  whom 
the  Weird  Sisters  had  warned  him,  and  whose  life 
he  attempted  to  destroy.1 

No  sooner  had  the  Witches  vanished  than  Len- 
nox enters  and  informs  Macbeth,  Macduff  is  fled  to 
England,     Macbeth  instantly  resolves: 

The  castle  of  Macduff  I  will  surprise; 
Seize  upon  Fife;  give  to  the  edge  o'  the  sword 
His  wife,  his  babes,  and  all  unfortunate  souls 
That  trace  him  in  his  line. 

The  action  of  the  drama,  which  had  been  stopped 
from  the  close  of  the  Climax,  III.,  4,  to  IV.,  1,  is 
now  resumed.  The  conversation  between  Lennox 
and  another  Lord,  the  appearance  of  the  Weird  Sis- 
ters, had  constituted  an  Episode.  On  the  conclusion 
of  that,  the  movement  begins  again  with  the  mur- 
der of  Lady  Macduff  and  her  Son. 

Following  this  is  Scene  3,  which  is  the  last  of  Act 
IV.,  and  the  last  of  the  Fall.  It  also  is  an  Episode. 
In  fact,  the  action  of  the  drama,  which  from  the  be- 
ginning of  the  Growth  to  the  end  of  the  Climax  had 
been  regular  and  swift,  has  been  suspended  during 
the  Fall,  with  the  single  exception  of  the  murder 
of  Lady  Macduff  and  her  Son.  Notwithstanding 
this  lull,  there  has  been  passive  or  artistic  progress. 
This  is  one  function  of  the  Episode.     By  it,  as  by 

1 "  Rut  when  we  in  our  viciousness  grow  hard — 
O  misery  on  't '  the  wise  gods  seel  our  eyes  ; 
In  our  own  filth  drop  our  clear  judgments  ;  make  us 
Adore  our  errors  ;  laugh  at 's,  while  we  strut 
To  our  confusion. " 

Antony  and  Cleopatra,  III.,  13,  in,  teq. 


108  Shakespeare's  Plots 

an  easy  and  progressive  transition,  the  drama  passes 
from  the  intense  excitement  of  the  Climax  to  that 
of  the  Catastrophe.  The  Fall  from  beginning  to  end 
is  weird,  sombre,  gloomy.  It  suggests  to  the  im- 
agination of  the  spectator  a  swiftly  coming  dies  tree. 
It  is  darkened  with  the  shadows  of  the  impending 
Catastrophe,  of  which  it  is  the  precursor,  which  it 
ushers  in.  The  murder  of  Lady  Macduff  and  her 
Son,  perpetrated  by  Macbeth  with  the  avowed  pur- 
pose of  averting  the  fulfilment  of  the  oracles,  is  the 
immediate  and  fruitful  cause  of  the  Catastrophe. 

In  the  concluding  part  of  the  Fall  (IV.,  3),  the 
scene  of  the  drama  is  transferred  to  England.  There 
a  conversation  is  held  between  Malcolm  and  Mac- 
duff. As  a  result,  Malcolm's  suspicion  of  Macduff 
is  allayed.  The  former  decides  to  set  forth  for 
Scotland.  Just  after  that  decision  is  reached,  and 
before  it  results  in  action,  the  news  is  brought  by 
Ross  to  Macduff: 

Your  castle  is  surprised;  your  wife  and  babes 
Savagely  slaughter'd. 

This  act,  introduced  by  Shakespeare  at  the  very 
conclusion  of  the  Fall,  becomes  the  immediate 
cause  of  the  Catastrophe.  It  causes  revolt  in  Scot- 
land.    It  stimulates  Malcolm's  desire  for  revenge: 

Let  's  make  us  medicines  of  our  great  revenge, 
To  cure  this  deadly  grief. 

It  becomes  the  whetstone  of  Macduff's  sword: 

But,  gentle  heavens, 
Cut  short  all  intermission;  front  to  front 
Bring  thou  this  fiend  of  Scotland  and  myself; 


Macbeth  109 

Within  my  sword's  length  set  him;  if  he  'scape, 
Heaven  forgive  him  too! 

The  result  is,  as  Malcolm  says: 

This  tune  goes  manly. 
Come,  go  we  to  the  King;  our  power  is  ready; 
Our  lack  is  nothing  but  our  leave;  Macbeth 
Is  ripe  for  shaking,  and  the  powers  above 
Put  on  their  instruments.     Receive  what  cheer  you  may: 
The  night  is  long  that  never  finds  the  day. 

Thus  ends  the  Fall,  the  fourth  division  of  the 
play.  In  a  perfectly  constructed  drama,  the  conclu- 
sion of  the  Fall  is  always  some  act  which  directly 
and  quickly  causes  the  Catastrophe. 

In  this  study  I  intentionally  restrict  myself  to 
the  broad  outlines  of  the  subject.  In  the  Fall  are 
two  facts  which,  while  they  are  minor  and  sub- 
sidiary, throw  so  much  light  on  Shakespeare's 
architectonics  that  I  think  this  study  would  be  in- 
complete without  brief  reference  to  them.  They 
are:  The  introduction  of  Macduff's  Son;  the  exit 
of  Lady  Macduff,  crying  "  Murder." 

The  introduction  of  Macduff's  Son  is  one  of  those 
subtle  touches  manifesting  the  finest  artistic  sense. 
It  is  illuminative.  The  innocent  and  guileless  boy 
forms  a  perfect  contrast  to  the  guilty  and  crafty 
Macbeth,  who  had  just  resolved  to  make  assurance 
double  sure,  by  murdering  Macduff  and  his  family. 
This  determination  had  no  sooner  been  formed  than 
it  was  executed.  The  firstlings  of  Macbeth's  heart 
had  become  the  firstlings  of  his  hand,  His  emis- 
saries appear  and  murder  the  boy.    Thus,  at  one  fell 


no  Shakespeare's  Plots 

swoop,  this  man  who  has  no  children  destroys  all 
Macduff's  pretty  ones.  As  a  flash  of  lightning  on  a 
stormy  night 

Unfolds  both  heaven  and  earth, 
And  ere  a  man  hath  power  to  say  "  Behold!  " 
The  jaws  of  darkness  do  devour  it  up, 

making  that  darkness  more  profound  and  gloomy, 
so  does  Shakespeare  by  the  introduction  of  this 
child  bring  into  bolder  relief  the  blackness  of  Mac- 
beth's  heart. 

Lady  Macduff  was  not  murdered  on  the  stage. 
Of  the  eleven  violent  deaths  recorded  in  the  play, 
only  two  (those  of  Macduff's  Son  and  Young 
Siward)  occur  in  presence  of  the  audience.  The 
execution  of  Cawdor  is  announced  by  Malcolm. 
Neither  Duncan  nor  Banquo  was  murdered  on  the 
stage.  Nor  were  the  grooms.  Lady  Macbeth  com- 
mitted suicide  in  the  privacy  of  her  own  apart- 
ment. Macbeth  meets  his  fate  at  the  hands  of 
Macduff,  unseen  by  the  audience.1  The  spectators 
of  the  drama  became  cognizant  of  these  violent 
deaths  only  through  narration.  The  channel 
through  which  the  facts  were  conveyed  was  not 
visual,  but  aural;  not  the  eye,  but  the  ear.  Shake- 
speare shrunk  from  presenting  them  to  view.  They 
were  not  scenically  enacted.  Rather  he  left  them 
to   the    imagination,  and  thereby  appealed  to  the 

1  There  is  a  stage  direction  in  the  First  Folio  {Tragedies,  p.  151), 
as  follows  :  "  Enter  Fighting,  and  Macbeth  slaine."  A  little  far- 
ther on,  still  on  the  same  page,  is  another  :  "  Enter  Macduffe  ;  with 
Macbeth's  head."  I  accept  the  latter  as  more  correct,  and  upon  it 
base  the  opinion  expressed  above. 


Macbeth  1 1 1 

interpretative  sympathy  of  the  spectators.  In  this 
he  conforms  to  one  of  his  own  qualifications  of  an 
excellent  play,  viz.,  that  it  be  set  down  with  as  much 
modesty  as  cunning.  Shakespeare's  technique  in  this 
respect  was  similar  to  that  of  the  Greeks.1  It  was 
also  in  direct  contrast  to  that  of  his  contemporaries.' 
It  combines  exquisite  refinement  with  the  acme  of 
strength;  to  borrow  his  own  simile,  it  is  like  a 
dewdrop  on  a  lions  mane.  In  this  he  reveals  the 
hand  of  the  master.  Coarseness  in  the  drama,  as  in 
every  form  of  art,  implies  crudeness.'  "All  great 
art  is  delicate  art,  and  all  coarse  art  is  bad  art."  ' 
The  bloody  and  repulsive  details  being  veiled,  these 
deaths  cease  to  be  shocking,  and  become  terrible.* 
Thus,  in  the  minor  as  in  the  major  details  of  dra- 
matic construction,  Shakespeare  manifests  technical 
perfection. 

1  Cf.  Leasing,  Laokoon,  chaps,  ii.,  iii.,  xii. 

1  Cf.  Lowell,   Old  English  Dramatists,  p.   71,  stq.;   Saintsbury, 
History  of  Elizabethan  Literature,  p.  395. 

*  But  yet  let  nothing  on  the  stage  he  brought 
Which  better  should  behind  the  scenes  be  wrought ; 
Nor  force  th'  unwilling  audience  to  behold 
What  may  with  grace  and  elegance  be  told. 
Let  not  Medea,  with  unnatural  rage. 
Slaughter  her  mangled  infants  on  the  stage  ; 
Nor  Atreus  his  nefarious  feast  prepare. 
Nor  Cadmus  roll  a  snake,  nor  Progne  wing  the  air ; 
For  while  upon  such  monstrous  scenes  we  gaze, 
They  shock  our  faith,  our  indignation  raise. 

Horace,  Art  Pottita. 

*  Ruskin,  Modern  Painters,  vol.  iii.,  p.  39. 

•  "  Imagination  defies  the  bare  fact,  but  creates  the  fearful  feel- 
ing."— Ruskin,  Modern  Painters,  vol    ii.,  p.  no. 


ii2  Shakespeare's  Plots 

CATASTROPHE 


Lady  Macbeth  disappeared  at  the  conclusion  of 
the  Climax.  At  that  time  her  work  in  the  drama 
was  completed.  She  is  not  visible  during  the  Fall. 
At  the  beginning  of  the  Catastrophe  she  reappears. 
She  is  the  same,  and  yet  how  changed !  During  the 
Banquet  Scene  she  was  every  inch  a  queen,  strong, 
dominant,  masterful.  At  the  same  time  she  was 
the  loyal,  loving  wife,  to  the  last  degree  solicitous 
for  her  husband's  welfare.  After  this  she  disap- 
pears, and  nevermore  takes  an  active  part  in  the 
action  of  the  drama.  When  Shakespeare  brings 
her  on  the  stage  again  (V.,  i)  she  is  an  utter  wreck, 
physically,  mentally,  morally. 

She  is  troubled  with  thick-coming  fancies, 
That  keep  her  from  her  rest. 

Her  reason  is  dethroned,  her  strong  will  is  broken. 
Her 

Intellectual  power,  through  words  and  things, 
Went  sounding  on  a  dim  and  perilous  way! 

Her  mind  wanders  automatically  over   the  events 
of  the  past.     She  is  a  nature  in  ruins. 

At  first  thought  it  seems  impossible  that  the 
Lady  Macbeth  of  the  Banquet  Scene,  manifesting 
therein  such  a  queenly,  such  a  wifely  character, 
could  change  into  the  Lady  Macbeth  of  the  Catas- 
trophe. One  is  led  to  ask,  Has  not  Shakespeare,  in 
this  changed  condition  of  Lady  Macbeth,  violated 


Macbeth  1 1 3 

the  primal  law  of  a  drama,  via.,  that  it  be  organic  ? 
If  Lady  Macbeth  had  revealed  her  whole  character 
in  the  Banquet  Scene,  the  answer  would  certainly 
be  in  the  affirmative.  But  she  did  not  do  this. 
"  Variations  there  are  of  temperature  in  the  finest 
season ;  and  the  truest  heart  has  not  always  the 
same  pulsations."  '  No  more,  I  may  add,  has  the 
falsest  heart.  Aristotle  says  some  characters,  to  be 
represented  with  uniformity,  must  be  represented  as 
ununiform.'  This  Shakespeare  has  done  in  the  case 
of  Lady  Macbeth.  He  shows  us  in  the  Banquet 
Scene  the  gracious  queen,  the  loyal  wife.  But 
there  is  another  and  dominating  quality  of  her  na- 
ture,— that  which  was  described  by  Malcolm  in  the 
words,  fiend-like  queen.  The  Lady  Macbeth  of  the 
Catastrophe  is  the  fiend-like  queen  of  the  fore  part  of 
the  play.  In  two  brief  verses  Shakespeare,  by  a 
masterly  stroke,  reveals  this  fact.  The  Doctor  says: 

Foul  whisperings  are  abroad:  unnatural  deeds 
Do  breed  unnatural  troubles: 

In  these  words  the  connection  between  the  unnat- 
ural troubles  of  the  Catastrophe  and  the  unnatural 
deeds  of  the  Growth  and  Climax  is  traced  by  Shake- 
speare. The  flower  does  not  grow  more  naturally 
from  the  root,  nor  the  river  flow  from  the  spring, 
than  does  the  Lady  Macbeth  of  Act  V.  develop  from 

1  Landor,  edited  by  Colvin,  p.  224. 

*  "  The  fourth  [requisite  of  Manners]  is  uniformity;  for  even 
though  the  model  of  the  Poet's  imitation  be  some  person  of  ununi- 
form manners,  still  that  person  must  be  represented  as  uniformly 
ununiform." — Poetics,  part  ii.,  chap,  xv.,  p.  144,  Twining's  trans- 
lation. 


ii4  Shakespeare's  Plots 

the  same  lady  of  Acts  II.  and  III.  The  after  part 
of  this  play  is,  in  every  detail,  the  outgrowth  of  the 
fore  part.  The  latter  is  in  living,  vital,  organic  con- 
nection with  the  former. 

But  more,  Shakespeare  has  made  the  two  parts  of 
the  play  (I  am  referring  only  to  Lady  Macbeth's 
part  therein)  Complement  and  Balance  each  other 
with  absolute  perfection.  An  examination  of  the 
subject  in  detail  will  reveal  this.  The  Catastrophe 
of  this  play  is  for  Lady  Macbeth  a  catastrophe  in 
the  literal  meaning  of  that  word,  viz.,  an  overturn- 
ing. The  change  in  her  condition  from  the  close  of 
the  Climax  till  her  appearance  in  the  Catastrophe  is 
most  grave  and  momentous.  It  reveals  the  intense 
mental  and  moral  struggle  through  which  she  has 
passed.  It  foretokens  the  final  outcome  of  that 
struggle.  Yet  it  is  not  an  unnatural,  therefore  not 
inartistic,  change.  It  is  progress  in  the  line  of  de- 
velopment. To  avoid  a  surprise  which,  by  diversion, 
would  lessen  the  strain  of  the  spectators,  Shake- 
speare prepares  for  that  change  by  a  brief  conversa- 
tion between  a  Doctor  and  a  Waiting  Gentlewoman. 
I  have  said  the  movement  of  the  Catastrophe  must 
be  rapid.  Shakespeare's  dramatic  construction  con- 
forms to  this  requisite.  He  never  asks  the  spectator 
to  sympathize  long  with  waning  fortunes,  with  ebb- 
ing men.  He  does  not  long  delay  an  impending 
judgment.  In  this  conversation,  which  extends  to 
but  a  few  lines,  Lady  Macbeth's  changed  condition 
is  foreshadowed.  Thus,  by  "  divinity  of  skill," 
manifesting  the  nicest  gradation,  Shakespeare  pre- 
pares the  spectator  for  the  final  appearance  of  Lady 


Macbeth  1 1 5 

Macbeth.  As  this  conversation  is  drawing  to  a 
close  she  appears  in  a  slumbcry  agitation.  She  en- 
ters alone.  So  did  she  at  the  beginning  of  the  play. 
She  bears  in  her  hand  a  taper.  The  Gentlewoman 
informs  us  she  lias  light  by  her  continually.  At  her 
first  entrance  she  had  uttered  this  invocation: 

Come,  thick  night, 
And  pall  thee  in  the  dunnest  smoke  of  hell. 

That  prayer  has  been  answered.  A  darkness  which 
is  physical,  mental,  moral,  has  enveloped  her,  and 
has  become  so  agonizing  that  she  finds  it  unendur- 
able. Hell  is  murky  !  As  some  relief,  she  has  light 
by  her  continually  ;  7  is  her  command.  She  rubs  her 
hands.  It  is  an  accustomed  action  with  her,  to  seem 
thus  washing  her  hands.  After  the  murder  of  Dun- 
can, looking  at  her  terror-stricken  husband  and  then 
at  her  bloody  hands,  she  said: 

My  hands  are  of  your  colour;  but  I  shame 
To  wear  a  heart  so  white. 

A  little  water  clears  us  of  this  deed: 
How  easy  is  it  then! 

But  as  she  learns,  or,  rather,  manifests  (her  reason  is 
dethroned,  she  learns  nothing),  washing  her  hands 
even  perseveringly  (/  have  known  her  continue  in 
this  a  quarter  of  an  hour),  it  is  not  so  easy  to  wash 
away  the  blood  and  clear  us  of  this  deed.  The  first 
words  she  utters  lead  us  to  infer  the  spot  is  not  on 
her  hands,  but  in  her  mind,  on  her  heart.  Yet 
lure  's  a  spot.     Notwithstanding  her  most  persistent 


n6  Shakespeare's  Plots 

washing,  and  her  strongest  conjuration,  Out,  damned 
spot  !  out,  I  say  !  the  spot  remains.  She  realizes 
this.  What,  will  these  hands  ne'er  be  clean  t  Then, 
with  a  sort  of  intensified  sensitiveness,  she  at- 
tributes to  the  blood  not  only  color,  but  also  odor.' 
Here's  the  smell  of  the  blood  still ;  all  the  perfumes 
of  Arabia  will  not  sweeten  this  little  hand. 
This  woman,  in  whose  nature  there  is  not 

as  small  a  drop  of  pity 
As  a  wren's  eye, 

does  not  weep.     Rather,  like  Isabel,  in  Marlowe's 
Edward  II.,  her 

Eyes,  being  turned  to  steel, 
Would  sooner  sparkle  fire  than  shed  a  tear.  . 

But  her  sorely-charged  heart,  filled  with  anguish,  in- 
tense, acute,  finds  relief  in  a  sigh,  which  is  full  of 
tragic  pathos.  What  a  revelation  does  that  sigh 
make!  It  is  one  of  "  those  passionate  convulsions 
when  our  human  nature,  like  the  sea  in  earthquake, 
is  sucked  away  deep  down  from  its  habitual  shores, 
leaving  bare  for  a  moment  slimy  beds  stirring  with 
loathsome  life,  and  weedy  tangles  before  undreamed 
of,  and  instantly  hidden  again  under  the  rush  of  its 
reaction."  *  In  like  manner,  this  sigh  reveals  to  us 
the  abysmal  deeps  of  Lady  Macbeth's  personality, 
wherein  is  raging  one  of  those  greater  storms  and 
tempests  than  almanacs  can  report* 

1  "  Nothing  awakens  a  reminiscence  like  an  odor." — Victor  Hugo, 
Les  Mistfrables,  Jean  Valjean,  book  9th,  chap,  iv. 
'Lowell,  Old  English  Dramatists,  p.  102. 
1  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  I.,  2,  154. 


Macbeth  1 1 7 

Once  more  her  mind  diseased  reverts  to  the  haunt- 
ing and  unforgettable  deeds  of  the  past.  Again  she 
refers,  this  time  in  imagination  addressing  her  hus- 
band, to  this  spot  of  blood  :  Wash  your  hands.  But 
to  no  effect.  All  great  Neptune's  ocean  cannot 
wash  the  blood  clean  from  her  hand,  for  the  blood 
is  not  on  her  little  hand,  but  in  her  distempered  im- 
agination, on  her  violated  conscience.  Her  mind 
then  reverts  to  her  final  interview  with  her  husband 
just  previous  to  Duncan's  murder: 

Fie,  my  lord,  fie!  a  soldier,  and  afeard  ?  What  need 
we  fear  who  knows  it,  when  none  can  call  our  power  to 
account  ? 

These  words  sound  as  if  they  had  been  uttered  at 
that  interview.     On  that  occasion  she  had  said: 

Art  thou  afeard 
To  be  the  same  in  thine  own  act  and  valour 
As  thou  art  in  desire  ?     Wouldst  thou  have  that 
Which  thou  esteem'st  the  ornament  of  life, 
And  live  a  coward  in  thine  own  esteem  ? 

She  then  refers  to  Duncan :  Who  would  have 
thought  the  old  man  to  have  had  so  much  blood  in 
him  ?  Doubtless  she  recalled  the  venerable  old 
man,  who  resembled  her  father,  and  the  blood  with 
which  she  had  gilded  the  faces  of  the  grooms,  For 
it  must  seem  their  guilt.  Then,  for  the  nonce  for- 
getting that  fatal  night,  she  recalls  the  murder  of  a 
woman  :  The  Thane  of  Fife  had  a  wife  :  where  is  she 
now  ?  She  thus  reveals  her  guilty  knowledge  of 
that  murder,  and  recalls  the  deed  to  the  memory 


n8  Shakespeare's  Plots 

of  the  spectator.  Her  unanswered  question  appeals 
to  the  imagination  and  lifts  the  veil  which  separates 
this  world  from 

The  undiscover'd  country  from  whose  bourn 
No  traveller  returns, 

and  out  of  whose  silence  no  reply  to  her  question 
is  heard.  The  Banquet  Scene  and  Banquo's  mur- 
der are  then  referred  to: 

I  tell  you  yet  again,  Banquo  's  buried;  he  cannot 
come  out  on  's  grave. 

But  he  does  come  out  of  his  grave,  and  haunts  not 
only  Macbeth,  as  he  did  at  the  Banquet,  but  also, 
in  this  final  stage  of  her  career,  Lady  Macbeth. 

With  the  exception  of  these  brief  allusions  to 
Lady  Macduff  and  to  Banquo,  every  word  Lady 
Macbeth  utters  in  this  final  soliloquy  refers  directly 
to  that  dark  night,  with  its  darker  deeds,  on  which 
Duncan  was  murdered.  At  the  last,  by  a  sort  of 
irresistible  impulse,  her  delirious  mind  reverts  to 
that  subject.  The  last  words  she  speaks  point  di- 
rectly to  Duncan's  murder: 

To  bed,  to  bed!  there  's  knocking  at  the  gate;  come, 
come,  come,  come,  give  me  your  hand.  What  's  done 
cannot  be  undone.     To  bed,  to  bed,  to  bed! 

The  utterances  are  a  perfect  echo  of  Lady  Mac- 
beth's  words  spoken  immediately  after  Duncan  had 
been  slain : 

I  hear  a  knocking, 

At  the  south  entry:  retire  we  to  our  chamber. 

Hark!  more  knocking. 


Macbeth  119 

Get  on  your  nightgown,  lest  occasion  call  us 
And  show  us  to  be  watchers.     Be  not  lost 
So  poorly  in  your  thoughts. 

And  later: 

How  now,  my  lord!  why  do  you  keep  alone, 

Of  sorriest  fancies  your  companions  making, 

Using  those  thoughts  which  should  indeed  have  died 

With  them  they  think  on  ?     Things  without  all  remedy 

Should  be  without  regard:  what  's  done  is  done. 

Then  Lady  Macbeth  makes  her  exit,  to  be  followed 
shortly  after  by  her  exit  from  the  world's  stage. 
Shakespeare  prepares  us  for  her  violent  death.  The 
Doctor,  most  delicately  foreshadowing  suicide,  says: 

Look  after  her; 
Remove  from  her  the  means  of  all  annoyance, 
And  still  keep  eyes  upon  her. 

There  are  but  two  more  references  to  her.  Mac- 
beth inquires: 

How  does  your  patient,  doctor  ? 
The  Doctor  replies: 

Not  so  sick,  my  lord, 
As  she  is  troubled  with. thick-coming  fancies, 
That  keep  her  from  her  rest. 

To  this  diagnosis  of  the  Doctor,  Macbeth  uninten- 
tionally,  indirectly,  but  with  unerring  accuracy, 
adds  another: 

Canst  thou  not  minister  to  a  mind  diseased, 
Pluck  from  the  memory  a  rooted  sorrow, 
Raze  out  the  written  troubles  of  the  brain. 
And  with  some  sweet  oblivious  antidote 


120  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Cleanse  the  stuff 'd  bosom  of  that  perilous  stuff 
Which  weighs  upon  the  heart  ? 

A  little  later  there  is  heard  a  cry  of  women  within. 
Macbeth  asks  Seyton : 

Wherefore  was  that  cry  ? 

Seyton  replies: 

The  queen,  my  lord,  is  dead. 

Unable  longer  to  bear  her  agony,  she 

by  self  and  violent  hands 
Took  off  her  life. 

She  dies  by  suicide. 

In  this  brief  scene,  containing  but  eighty-eight 
lines,  Shakespeare  uses  the  word  hand  no  less  than 
six  times.  This  is  one  of  those  verbal  felicities 
("  winged  words,"  as  Homer  describes  them)  in 
the  use  of  which  Shakespeare  reveals  his  expres- 
sional  potency,  his  mighty  power  of  pictorial  speech. 
The  hand  is  the  instrument  by  which  the  intellect 
gives  form  and  shape  to  its  conceptions;  it  is  the 
minister  by  which  the  mandates  of  the  will  are  ex- 
ecuted. Shakespeare,  by  his  oft-repeated  use  of 
that  word  in  this  Scene,  manifests  "  the  power  of 
poetry,  which  is,  by  a  single  word  perhaps,  to  in- 
stil that  energy  into  the  mind  which  compels  the 
imagination  to  produce  the  picture."  '  Lady  Mac- 
beth's  reference  to  her  hands,  which  is  echoed  by 
the  Doctor  and  the  Gentlewoman,  recalls  the  dag- 
gers which  those  hands  had  placed  in  position  : 

'Coleridge,  Lectures  on  Shakespeare,  Bohn's  edition,  p.  138. 


Macbeth  121 

I  laid  their  daggers  ready: 
He  could  not  miss  'em; 

and  to  the  bell  which  those  hands  rang,  and  which 
signified  to  Macbeth  that  everything  was  in  readi- 
ness; and  also  to  the  fact  that,  after  the  murder, 
those  same  hands 

Gilded  the  faces  of  the  grooms  withal; 
For  it  must  seem  their  guilt. 

These  guilty  hands  have  now  become  Lady  Mac- 
beth's  Nemesis.  Conscience  makes  them  the  in- 
strument of  punishment,  and  this  doubly.  On  the 
last  night  Lady  Macbeth's  wandering  mind  returns 
again  and  again  to  them,  and  to  the  blood  thereon. 
Later  by  these  same  hands  she  took  off  her  life. 
Thus  Duncan's  murder  is  revenged  on  Lady  Mac- 
beth, and  by  the  self-same  hands  that  laid  the  dag- 
gers ready. 

By  an  inexorable  law,  which  applies  both  to  na- 
ture and  to  art,  effects  follow  causes,  penalty  is  the 
result  of  transgression.  Lady  Macbeth's  sufferings, 
which  are  terrible  and  fatally  destructive,  are  but 
the  legitimate  result  of  that  consecration  to  crime 
which  expressed  itself  in  the  invocation,  one  of  the 
most  appalling  in  all  literature: 

Come,  you  spirits;  seq. 

This  night  on  which  Lady  Macbeth  walks  in  her 
sleep  is  but  the  counterpart  of  that  other  night  so 
fatal  to  Duncan.  The  thoughts  which  flit  through 
her  brain-sickly  mind  are  but  the  reflections  of  the 


122  Shakespeare's  Plots 

deeds  done  on  that  night.  Duncan's  murder  is 
revenged  by  the  suicide  of  Lady  Macbeth.  And  by 
a  poetic  justice,  which  is  both  morally  and  artisti- 
cally perfect,  Shakespeare  makes  the  murderer  in 
the  latter  case  the  woman  who  instigated  and 
planned,  and  with  fell  purpose  urged  forward  to 
completion,  the  murder  of  Duncan.  The  woman 
who  rang  the  bell,  of  which  Macbeth  said : 

the  bell  invites  me. 
Hear  it  not,  Duncan,  for  it  is  a  knell 
That  summons  thee  to  heaven  or  to  hell, 

is  the  same  who  by 

self  and  violent  hands 
Took  off  her  life. 

Shakespeare's  portrayal  of  Lady  Macbeth's  charac- 
ter in  the  Catastrophe,  in  every  particular,  Comple- 
ments and  Balances  the  same  in  the  Growth  and 
Climax.  All  the  factors  in  the  former  blend  per- 
fectly with  those  in  the  latter.  The  effect,  viewing 
the  play  as  a  whole,  is  completeness  and  equilib- 
rium. Thus  we  perceive  Shakespeare's  Dramatic 
Construction  reveals  perfect  Complement  and  Bal- 
ance, and,  resulting  therefrom,  perfect  Symmetry. 

What  is  technically  the  Central  Point  of  the 
Catastrophe,  so  far  as  that  relates  to  Macbeth,  is  the 
battle-field  situated  between  Dunsinane  Castle  and 
Birnam  Wood.  At  the  conclusion  of  the  Fall  (IV., 
3),  Malcolm  said : 

This  tune  goes  manly. 
Come,  go  we  to  the  King;  our  power  is  ready; 


Macbeth  123 

Our  lack  is  nothing  but  our  leave.      Macbeth 
Is  ripe  for  shaking,  and  the  powers  above 
Put  on  their  instruments. 

The  march  toward  Scotland  is  immediately  begun. 

Menteith  (V.,  2)  informs  us: 

The  English  power  is  near,  led  on  by  Malcolm, 
His  uncle  Siward,  and  the  good  Macduff. 

To  join  them  the  Scotch  thanes  who  have  revolted 
march  towards  Birnam  ;  there,  as  Caithness  says: 

Meet  we  the  medicine  of  the  sickly  weal, 
And  with  him  pour  we  in  our  country's  purge 
Each  drop  of  us. 

In  Dunsinane  Castle,  on  the  edge  of  this  field,  Mac- 
beth is  intrenched.  Thus  toward  this  battle-ground 
everything  in  the  Catastrophe  converges.  It  is  the 
focal  point  to  which  the  thoughts  of  the  spectator 
are  directed.  On  it  Macbeth  and  his  army  meet 
Malcolm,  Siward,  the  English  forces,  the  Scotch 
rebels.  On  it  is  fought  the  battle  which  brings 
death  to  Macbeth,  revenge  and  an  earldom  to  Mac- 
duff, the  throne  to  Malcolm,  and  the  play  to  an  end. 
In  this  respect,  the  conclusion  of  the  play  Com- 
plements the  beginning.  In  the  Introduction  the 
scene  is  A  Camp  near  Forres.  There  is  a  descrip- 
tion of  a  battle  between  the  rebels,  led  by  the  merci- 
less Macdonwald,  and  Duncan's  army,  led  by  the 
brave  Macbeth.  This  is  followed  quickly  by  another 
combat: 

No  sooner  justice  had  with  valour  arm'd 
Compell'd  these  skipping  kerns  to  trust  their  heels, 
But  the  Norweyan  lord  surveying  vantage, 


1 24  Shakespeare's  Plots 

With  furbish'd  arms  and  new  supplies  of  men 

Began  a  fresh  assault. 
Macbeth  is  again  victorious,  and  shortly  after  ap- 
pears in  this  drama.  Thus  his  life  as  portrayed  in 
this  play  is  rounded  with  a  battle.  It  begins,  it 
ends,  on  the  battle-field.  What  is  true  of  his  part 
in  the  play  is  true  of  the  drama  as  a  whole:  it 
commences  and  concludes  with  a  battle.  In  this 
respect,  the  Introduction  and  the  Catastrophe  Com- 
plement and  Balance  each  other. 

In  order  to  judge  accurately  Shakespeare's  con- 
struction of  the  Catastrophe  so  far  as  it  relates  to 
Macbeth,  and  to  determine  whether  the  play  is  one 
organic  whole,  it  is  necessary  to  trace  in  detail  his 
development  of  the  character  of  Macbeth. 

Before  the  play  opens  vaulting  ambition  had  sug- 
gested to  Macbeth  succession  to  the  throne.  This 
became  to  him  so  real,  vivid,  potent,  that  he  spoke 
of  it  to  Lady  Macbeth.  In  this  frame  of  mind,  re- 
turning with  Banquo  from  a  victorious  campaign  he 
meets  the  Witches.  They  hail  him  thane  of 
Glamis  !  thane  of  Cawdor  !  and  king  hereafter  ! 
They  touch  a  responsive  chord  in  him.  The 
Witches  disappear.  Ross  and  Angus,  messengers 
from  Duncan,  immediately  arrive  and  inform  Mac- 
beth the  King  has  appointed  him  thane  of  Cazvdor. 
This  news  enkindles  his  ambition  to  a  feverish,  to  a 
murderous  degree.     It  takes  the  form  of  a 

suggestion 
Whose  horrid  image  doth  unfix  my  hair 
And  make  my  seated  heart  knock  at  my  ribs, 
Against  the  use  of  nature. 


Macbeth  125 

That  suggestion  is  definitely  described: 

My  thought,  whose  murder  yet  is  but  fantastical, 
Shakes  so  my  single  state  of  man  that  function 
Is  smothered  in  surmise. 

He  is  not,  however,  ready  to  yield  to  that  sugges- 
tion.    He  decides  on  inaction. 

If  chance  will  have  me  king,  why,  chance  may  crown  me, 
Without  my  stir. 

Shortly  after  this,  Duncan  appoints  Malcolm 
Prince  of  Cumberland,  which  title  carries  with  it  the 
right  of  succession.  The  effect  on  Macbeth's  mind 
was  instant,  powerful.     He  reaches  the  decision  to 

let  that  be 
Which   the  eye  fears,  when  it  is  done,  to  see. 

This  but  inaugurates  a  severe  and  prolonged  strug- 
gle in  Macbeth's  nature.  After  mature  considera- 
tion of  the  question,  Macbeth  decides  to  proceed  no 
further  in  this  business.  He  yields,  however,  to  the 
tempter  in  the  person  of  Lady  Macbeth,  and  mur- 
ders Duncan.  This  was  the  first  of  a  long  list  of 
murders.  It  was  perpetrated  only  after  a  struggle 
between  right  and  wrong,  between  conscience  and 
an  unscrupulous  ambition.  This  conflict  was  so 
sharp  and  protracted  that  it  stirred  Macbeth's  na- 
ture to  its  profoundest  depths. 

The  murder  of  Duncan  was  followed  by  that  of 
the  Grooms.  In  this  case  there  was  no  hesitancy. 
The  deed  was  done  quickly,  on  the  impulse  of  the 
moment. 


126  Shakespeare's  Plots 

The  next  step  in  Macbeth's  career  was  the  mur- 
der of  Banquo  and  attempted  murder  of  Fleance. 
This  manifests  marked  progress  in  crime.  Here 
there  was  no  wavering,  no  irresolution,  as  in  the 
case  of  Duncan;  nor  was  it  performed  under  the 
influence  of  a  sudden  impulse.  It  was  premedi- 
tated, deliberate,  carefully  contrived. 

The  fourth  stage  in  this  criminal  career  is  reached 
when  Macbeth's 

nature  is  subdued 
To  what  it  works  in.1 

Then  he  accepts  his  environment  and  adapts  him- 
self thereto : 

I  am  in  blood 
Stepp'd  in  so  far  that,  should  I  wade  no  more, 
Returning  were  as  tedious  as  go  o'er. 

Without  any  compunction,  and  with  the  utmost 
deliberation,  he  consecrates  his  future  to  crime: 

Strange  things  I  have  in  head  that  will  to  hand, 
Which  must  be  acted  ere  they  may  be  scanned. 

This  resolution  is  immediately  carried  into  action. 
He  murders  Macduff's  wife  and  children.  Murder 
has  now  become  his  principal  occupation.  He 
revels,  he  gloats  in  it. 

The  final  stage  in  Macbeth's  development  in 
crime,  that  which  is  portrayed  in  the  Catastrophe, 
is  homicidal  mania.     Caithness  describes  it: 

1  Sonnet  CXI. 


Macbeth  127 

Some  say  he  's  mad;  others  that  lesser  hate  him 
Do  call  it  valiant  fury. 

Macbeth's  soul  is  agitated.  He  feels  himself  in  the 
presence  of  fate.  For  him,  to  quote  his  own  words 
uttered  just  previous  to  the  murder  of  Banquo: 

Light  thickens,  and  the  crow 

Makes  wing  to  the  rooky  wood: 

Good  things  of  day  begin  to  droop  and  drowse. 

One  after  another  unfavorable  reports  are  brought 
to  him.  The  thanes  fly  from  him;  the  English 
force  approaches;  the  Queen  dies;  Birnam  Wood 
begins  to  move;  the  leavy  screens  are  throivn  down 
and  reveal  the  English  forces,  led  on  by  Malcolm, 
Siward,  Macduff,  and  re-enforced  by  the  Scotch 
thanes.  Macbeth  manifests  a  coolness  and  despera- 
tion born  of  impending  doom: 

The  mind  I  sway  by  and  the  heart  I  bear 
Shall  never  sag  with  doubt  nor  shake  with  fear. 

He  makes  ready  to  contend  with  destiny  for  his  life. 
His  courage,  however,  is  not  that  of  the  man  strong 
in  the  right,  who  hath  his  quarrel  just,  but  rather  of 
him  who  hath  defied  the  right  and  knows  doomsday 
has  come.     He  is  desperate: 

They  have  tied  me  to  a  stake;  I  cannot  fly, 
But,  bear-like,  I  must  fight  the  course. 

The  imprisoned,  pent-up  forces  of  his  nature  find 
vent  in  an  intense  and  fiery  ebullition: 


128  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Blow,  wind!  come,  wrack! 
At  least  we  '11  die  with  harness  on  our  back. 

Once  or  twice,  however,  there  have  been  what  I 
may  term  moral  reactions.  They  are  expressions  of 
that  trait  in  his  nature  which  he  manifested  just 
after  he  had  murdered  Duncan.  Fresh  from  that 
deed,  with  his  hands  still  covered  with  Duncan's 
blood,  he  told  his  wife: 

One  cried,  "  God  bless  us!  "  and  "  Amen!  "  the  other; 
I  could  not  say,  "  Amen!  " 

And  then  he  seemed  astonished  that  he  could  not 
pronounce  that  word,  that  it  stuck  in  his  throat.  In 
all  literature  I  know  no  more  perfect  example  than 
this  of  moral  perversion.  It  is  the  very  lunacy  of 
a  distempered  conscience.  Macbeth  seemed  to  be 
utterly  blind  to  the  incongruity  between  his  deed 
and  such  a  prayer. 

In  this  respect,  Macbeth  was  unlike  Lady  Mac- 
beth. Never  once  in  the  course  of  the  drama  did 
she  utter  a  syllable  expressive  of  regret  or  despair. 
Her  iron  will,  her  remorseless  ambition,  from  the 
beginning  to  the  end,  assert  their  supremacy,  and 
to  the  very  last  continue  the  conflict  with  her  moral 
nature.  Eventually  retribution  comes.  It  is  sud- 
den, fatal.  It  is  an  insanity  which  ends  in  suicide. 
Macbeth,  on  the  other  hand,  is  at  times  controlled 
by  a  better  nature.  Conscience  warns.  He  hesi- 
tates to  do  wrong.  He  regrets  a  wrong  done.  He 
wishes  Duncan  could  awake  from  his  sleep  of  death 
He  sleeps 


Macbeth  129 

In  the  affliction  of  these  terrible  dreams 
That  shake  us  nightly. 

Out  of  the  depths  of  an  agonized  heart  he  cries: 

O,  full  of  scorpions  is  my  mind,  dear  wife! 

These  feelings,   however,   are  but  temporary,  and 
soon 

are  quelled 
Beneath  a  mightier,  sterner  stress  of  mind.1 

The  conflict  between  his  better  and  his  worse  nature 
continues  to  the  end.  The  voice  of  conscience  be- 
comes fainter,  the  moral  nature  becomes  weaker, 
but  still  the  former  is  heard,  the  latter  asserts  itself. 
At  the  close  of  his  career,  Macbeth's  deeds  sit 
heavy  on  his  soul.     Angus  says: 

Now  does  he  feel 
His  secret  murders  sticking  on  his  hands; 
Now  minutely  revolts  upbraid  his  faith-breach; 
Those  he  commands  move  only  in  command, 
Nothing  in  love:  seq. 

Macbeth's  own  words  after  he  is  informed  of  the 
flight  of  the  thanes  and  the  appearance  of  the 
English  force  reveal  to  us  the  deep  despondency, 
the  overwhelming  sense  of  loneliness,  which  fill  his 
agitated  soul : 

Seyton! — I  am  sick  at  heart, 
When  I  behold— Seyton,  I  say! — This  push 
Will  cheer  me  ever,  or  disseat  me  now. 

1  Landor,  Count  Julian. 


130  Shakespeare's  Plots 

I  have  lived  long  enough:  my  way  of  life 

Is  fall'n  into  the  sear,  the  yellow  leaf; 

And  that  which  should  accompany  old  age, 

As  honour,  love,  obedience,  troops  of  friends, 

I  must  not  look  to  have;  but,  in  their  stead, 

Curses,  not  loud  but  deep,  mouth-honour,  breath, 

Which  the  poor  heart  would  fain  deny,  and  dare  not. 

A  little  later,  Lady  Macbeth's  death  is  announced. 
He  again  gives  expression  to  blank  despair  and  des- 
olation: 

I  'gin  to  be  aweary  of  the  sun, 
And  wish  the  estate  o'  the  world  were  now  undone. 

His  anguish  becomes  intolerable.  Suicide,  the  last 
resort  of  those  whose  sufferings  are  excessive,  whose 
hopes  are  extinct,  suggests  itself.  His  despair, 
however,  is  majestic.  Without  hesitancy  or  parley 
he  rejects  the  suggestion : 

Why  should  I  play  the  Roman  fool,  and  die 

On  mine  own  sword  ?     Whiles  I  see  lives,  the  gashes 

Do  better  upon  them. 

Unlike  Lady  Macbeth,  he  neither  becomes  insane 
nor  commits  suicide.  In  thus  portraying  the  last 
experiences  of  this  man  and  this  woman,  Shake- 
speare has  been  true  to  nature.  The  mighty  oak 
which  stands  upright  and  does  not  bend  to  the  hur- 
ricane, is  suddenly  uprooted  and  overthrown.  The 
willow  which  bends  and  sways,  yielding  to  the 
force  of  the  tornado,  withstands  the  cyclone. 

The  battle  is  fought.  Macbeth  kills  Young 
Siward,  and  in  turn  is  slain  by  Macduff.  Thus  he 
dies  fighting,  a  death  befitting  a  brave  soldier. 


Macbeth  131 

All  true  justice,  poetic  as  well  as  moral,  is  "  the 
absolute  art  of  measured  recompense."1  In  the 
soliloquy  uttered  before  the  murder  of  Duncan, 
Macbeth  had  expressed  this  thought: 

But  in  these  cases 
We  still  have  judgment  here;  seq. 

This  is  fulfilled  in  Macbeth's  own  experience.  Be- 
tween his  sin  and  its  retribution  the  balance  is  per- 
fectly preserved.  The  murderer  of  Duncan  and  of 
Banquo  is  allowed  to  fill  out  the  measure  of  his 
bloody  career  by  the  pitiless  and  inhuman  slaughter 
of  Macduff's  wife  and  children.  By  a  poetic  justice 
which  is  perfect,  Nemesis  comes  in  the  person  of 
Macduff.  It  was  Macduff  who  induced  Malcolm  to 
march  into  Scotland  at  the  head  of  the  English 
force;  who  inaugurated  and  took  an  active  part  in 
the  campaign  that  followed ;  who  met  and  slew 
Macbeth.  Thus  he  revenged  the  murders  of  Dun- 
can and  Banquo;  revenged  Malcolm's  wrongs;  re- 
venged the  murder  of  his  own  wife  and  pretty  ones. 
He  was  the  active  agent  in  producing  the  Catas- 
trophe, and  afterward  in  bringing  the  Catastrophe, 
and  with  it  the  play,  to  a  conclusion. 

In  the  play,  Shakespeare  also  brings  to  a  fitting 
dramatic  close  the  career  of  Malcolm.  After  Mac- 
beth had  murdered  Duncan  and  seized  the  throne, 
Tialcolm,  the  son  and  heir,  fled  to  England.  From 
that  time  until  near  its  very  close  he  has  taken  no 
part  in  the  action  of  this  drama.  He  disappears 
during  the  Growth.     During  the  Climax  and  Fall 

1  Ruskin,  Lecturts  on  Art,  BrantwooU  edition,  p.  106. 


*32  Shakespeare's  Plots 

he  is  absent.  He  reappears  in  the  Catastrophe.  The 
throne,  which  had  been  unlawfully  seized  by  Mac- 
beth, now  falls  into  the  possession  of  its  rightful 
owner.  Malcolm  now,  after  a  long  interval  of  time, 
obtains  the  throne,  and  is  hailed  by  Macduff  and 
all,  King  of  Scotland. 

Aristotle  says  the  object  of  tragedy  is  to  effect, 
through  pity  and  terror,  the  correction  and  refine- 
ment of  those  passions."  '  A  freer  translation  of 
Aristotle's  words  is,  "producing,  by  [the  stimula- 
tion of]  pity  and  fear,  the  alleviating  discharge  of 
emotions  of  that  nature."  * 

In  his  Politics,  Aristotle  speaks  of  purifying  the 
passions.  The  passage  throws  a  side-light  on  the 
above  quotation  from  the  Poetics,  and  enables  us  to 
apprehend  Aristotle's  meaning.  The  word  he  uses 
in  the  Politics  is  Kat/iarsis,  literally  "  purifying." 
The  aesthetical  use  of  Kat/iarsis  he  compares  to 
musical  cures  effected  by  playing  very  exciting  flute 
music  as  a  palliative  for  morbid  excitement  of  the 
mind.     According  to  Lessing, 

Aristotle  intends  to  insist  on  the  essential  interconnec- 
tion of  sympathy  and  fear,  in  the  sense  that  oar  feeling 
of  a  common  nature  and  possibilities  shared  by  ourself 
and  the  person  in  the  drama  awaken  in  us  the  thought 
of  our  own  participation  in  that  human  destiny  which 
can  do  such  things  as  we  see.' 

Professor  Mahaffy's  exposition  of  Aristotle's  dic- 
tum, which  is  in  harmony  with  that  of  Goethe,  is, 

1  Poetics,  part  ii.,  section  ii.,  p.  116,  Twining's  translation. 
1  Bosanquet,  History  of  ^Esthetic,  p.  64.     *  Idem.,  p.  236. 


Macbeth  133 

not  that  tragedy  has  a  moral  use,  but  an  aesthetical 
purpose: 

That  human  pleasures  and  human  griefs,  apart  from 
their  moral  side,  though  not  in  conflict  with  it,  require 
to  be  raised  and  purified;  and  just  as  we  train  the  taste 
of  the  eye  by  ideal  pictures  and  by  the  study  of  excep- 
tionally beautiful  scenery,  so  the  compassion  and  the  fear 
of  the  ordinary  citizen  may  be  purified  by  showing  him 
higher  and  nobler  objects  for  its  exercise.1 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  a  great  tragedy  appeals  both 
to  the  moral  and  to  the  aesthetical  nature,  and,  by 
exercising,  purifies  them.  It  therefore  seems  to  me 
likely  that  Aristotle  referred  to  both. 

A  most  exhaustive,  profound,  and  lucid  explana- 
tion of  Aristotle's  words  is  that  of  Dallas:1 

Why  are  pity  and  terror  selected  as,  above  all  others, 
the  tragic  emotions  ?  How  do  we  get  at  these  two  and 
shut  out  the  rest  ?  .  .  .  There  is  some  disparity 
between  the  words  pity  and  terror,  which  goes  to  veil  the 
true  significance  in  tragedy  of  the  things  they  stand  for. 
Thus,  pity  is  the  emotion  of  a  spectator  at  the  grief 
which  he  sees  in  another;  it  is  sympathy  with  grief. 
Terror,  on  the  other  hand,  stands  equally  for  terror  and 
sympathy  with  terror.  We  have  no  special  term  for 
sympathy  with  terror,  as  we  have  for  sympathy  with 
grief.  Therefore,  for  the  sake  of  exactness,  and  that 
the  words  may  go  perfectly  in  pairs,  let  us  fall  back  on 
a  circumlocution.     It  will  then  appear  that,  according 

1 History  of  Classical  Greek  Literature,  vol.  ii.,  p.  407. 
1  TKt  Gay  Science,  vol.  ii.,  pp.  53,  54. 


134  Shakespeare's  Plots 

to  Aristotle's  famous  definition,  the  object  of  tragedy  is 
to  produce  the  pleasure  of  sympathy  with  grief,  and  of 
sympathy  with  terror.  And  then,  also,  we  are  in  a  posi- 
tion to  see  that  this  analysis  of  painful  emotion  is 
exhaustive,  and  to  present  the  definition  of  tragedy  as 
follows:  It  is  the  object  of  tragedy  to  excite  pleasure 
through  a  discipline  of  pain.  But  pain  is  either  of  the 
known  or  of  the  unknown.  As  of  the  known,  it  awakens 
grief;  as  of  the  unknown,  fear.  The  one  is  a  painful 
feeling  based  on  experience;  the  other  a  painful  feeling 
born  of  anticipation.  And,  therefore,  all  the  painfulness 
of  the  passions  with  which  tragedy  has  to  do  must  work 
up  either  to  pity  or  to  terror;  that  is,  to  sympathy  either 
with  the  known  or  with  the  unknown  of  pain. 

Professor  Woodberry's  interpretation  of  this 
much-disputed  dictum  of  the  Stagirite,  while  not  so 
subtle  as  that  of  Dallas,  is  scholarly  and  luminous: 

It  is  not  credible  to  me  that  painful  emotion,  under 
the  illusions  of  art,  can  become  pleasurable  in  the  com- 
mon sense;  what  pleasure  there  is  arises  only  in  the 
climax  and  issue  of  the  action,  as  in  case  of  the  drama 
when  the  restoration  of  the  order  that  is  joyful,  beauti- 
ful, right,  and  wise  occurs;  in  other  words,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  final  poetic  justice  or  reconciliation  of  the 
disturbed  elements  of  life.1 

It  is  the  mission  of  a  great  tragedy,  as  of  every 
great  work  of  art,  to  stimulate  both  sensation  and 
perception,  and  to  produce,  as  a  result  thereof,  emo- 
tion.    It  makes  one  feel,  feel  deeply,  intensely,  and 

1  Heart  of  Man,  p.  153! 


Macbeth  135 

through    the    whole    gamut    of    the    emotions.      It 
brings  one  into  sympathy   not  with  real  but  with 
fictitious  passion,  which  has  been  made  real  by  the 
imagination.     Its  primary  function  is  to  evoke  and 
intensify  pity  and  fear.     A  profound  feeling  is  ele- 
mental, like  fire  or  water,  and,  like  them,  sublime, 
even  if  perverted.    The  raging  torrent,  the  consum- 
ing fire,  even  though  destructive,  are  magnificent. 
So  the  portrayal  in  a  tragedy  of  a  great  passion  de- 
livers the  soul  from  its  debilities.     It  dispels  emo- 
tional   torpor,    exercises   the    feelings,  particularly 
those  of  pity  and  fear,  and  has  the  effect,  described 
by    Aristotle,    of   correcting,    refining,    stimulating 
them.     This  drama  performs  this  function.     It  por- 
trays  the   mighty  and  prolonged  struggle    of   two 
strong  natures  who  defied  the  eternal  laws  of  right. 
With  all  its  varying  phases  of  success  and  failure 
that    conflict  is  described.     As    it    progresses,    the 
drama  becomes  more  and  more  impassioned.     As 
it  nears  the  conclusion,  in  the  description  of  the  vio- 
lent deaths  of  Lord  and  Lady  Macbeth,  it  becomes 
inexpressibly  pathetic,  reaches  a  tragic  exaltation 
which  is  sublime.    It  appeals  to  and  stimulates  pity 
and  fear,  both  "  with  the  known  and  the  unknown 
of  pain"  ;  and,  in  this  respect,  it  is  in  conformity  with 
the  canons  of  art. 

A  great  drama  is  also  organic.  In  this,  likewise, 
its  artistic  perfection  is  manifested.  From  the  first 
line  of  the  Introduction  to  the  last  line  of  the 
Catastrophe  it  is  one  living  whole.  The  Catas- 
trophe is  not  artificial,  forced,  arbitrary.  The  char- 
acters and  fates  of  the  Macbeths  as  portrayed  in  the 


136  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Catastrophe  are  not  such  because  Shakespeare  has 
so  willed.  They  are  the  natural  and  inevitable  fruit 
of  the  deeds  described  in  the  Growth,  Climax,  Fall. 
The  doom  which  befell  the  Macbeths  is  in  strict  ac- 
cord with  the  universal  law  that  everything  must 
bear  fruit  after  its  kind.  Rebellion  has  begotten 
rebellion,  murder  has  generated  murder.  "  This 
perpetual  relation  of  the  events  with  the  characters 
is  the  principle  of  dramatic  poetry.  Whatever  re- 
sults to  the  hero  is  the  fruit  of  his  own  acts."  ' 

Thus,  studying  this  drama  from  the  standpoint  of 
its  construction,  we  recognize  in  it  an  example,  well- 
nigh  perfect,  of  Shakespeare's  architectonics.  It 
touches  the  very  summit  of  intense  dramatic  pre- 
sentation.    It  is  a  masterpiece. 

1  Hegel,  Aesthetics, 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE  * 

INTRODUCTION 

I.,   I,  2. 

NO  one  of  Shakespeare's  plays  is  more  popular 
than  the  Merdiant  of  Venice.  None  is  more 
misunderstood.  The  opinion  is  almost  universal 
that  the  Main  Action  is  the  loan  made  by  Shylock 
to  Antonio,  and  the  consequences  thereof.  This 
opinion  is  wholly  mistaken.  The  error  is  the  result 
of  two  causes:  ignorance  of  dramatic  construction, 
and  the  conventional  method  of  staging  the  play. 
The  star  actor  in  the  cast  almost  always  assumes  the 
character  of  Shylock.  This  gives  that  character  the 
primary  position  in  the  presentation,  and  exagger- 
ates its  importance. 

The  Main  Action  of  this  drama  is  the  wooing 
of  Portia  by  Bassanio,  and  all  the  consequences 
thereof.  If  Bassanio  had  not  been  in  love  with 
Portia  and  desired  to  win  her  hand  in  marriage  the 
loan  of  Shylock  to  Antonio  would  never  have  been 

1  This  study  of  the  Merchant  of  Venice  was  originally  published 
in  Werner's  Magazine.  It  is  republished  here  by  permission  of  the 
Edgar  S.  Werner  Publishing  and  Supply  Co.,  New  York. 

137 


138  Shakespeare's  Plots 

made,  Antonio  borrowed  the  three  thousand  ducats 
from  Shylock  for  one  and  only  one  purpose,  viz., 
to  enable  Bassanio  to  go  to  Belmont,  to  fair  Portia. 
The  Main  Action  of  a  drama  bears  the  same  rela- 
tion to  all  other  parts  of  the  play  that  the  spinal 
column  does  to  all  the  other  parts  of  a  man's  body. 
The  Main  Action  is  the  backbone  of  a  play.  Every- 
thing  in  the  play  is  dependent  upon,  subsidiary  to 
that.  In  the  Merchant  of  Venice,  the  loan  of  Shy- 
lock  to  Antonio,  the  wooing  of  Gratiano  and  Ne- 
rissa,  of  Lorenzo  and  Jessica,  which  are  Sub-Actions, 
are  the  result  of,  are  dependent  upon,  are  inextri- 
cably connected  with,  the  wooing  of  Bassanio  and 
Portia.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  latter  no  loan 
would  have  been  made;  Gratiano  would  not  have 
met  and  wooed  Nerissa,  nor  would  Jessica  have  be- 
come a  Christian  and  Lorenzo's  loving  wife.  The 
Main  Action  of  the  play,  therefore,  is  the  wooing  of 
Portia  by  Bassanio,  and  everything  else  in  it  is 
secondary  thereto,  and  is  the  result  thereof. 

The  play  opens  by  presenting  to  us  a  group  of 
three  men,  Antonio,  Salarino,  Salanio.  After  a 
brief  conversation  they  are  joined  by  Bassanio,  the 
most  noble  kinsman  of  Antonio,  Gratiano,  and  Lo- 
renzo. The  arrival  of  the  last  three  is  followed 
almost  immediately  by  the  exit  of  Salarino  and 
Salanio.  Having  made  an  engagement  to  meet 
Bassanio  at  dinner,  Gratiano  and  Lorenzo  shortly 
after  retire.  Antonio  and  Bassanio  are  thus  left 
alone.  They  then  hold  a  conversation,  with  which 
the  Scene  concludes, 

I.   Antonio  is   sad.     All    the  others  are   merry. 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  139 

Antonio  was  not  a  cynic.  On  the  contrary,  he  was 
genial,  kindly,  lovable,  loving.  Between  him  and 
these  young  men  there  was  a  strong  bond  of  friend- 
ship.    To  Salarino  he  said : 

Your  worth  is  very  dear  in  my  regard. 

When  Bassanio  said  to  Antonio 

from  your  love  I  have  a  warranty 
To  unburden  all  my  plots  and  purposes, 

the  latter,  without  a  moment's  delay,  and  like  the 
honorable  man  and  true  friend  he  was,  replied: 

And  if  it  stand,  as  you  yourself  still  do, 
Within  the  eye  of  honour,  be  assured, 
My  purse,  my  person,  my  extremest  means, 
Lie  all  unlock'd  to  your  occasions. 

Antonio  was  not  only  loving,  he  was  also  lovable. 
His  affection  was  reciprocated.     Gratiano  said  : 

I  tell  thee  what,  Antonio — 
I  love  thee,  and  it  is  my  love  that  speaks. 

Bassanio  acknowledged  his  great  indebtedness  to 
Antonio  both  in  money  and  in  love.  Antonio's  sad- 
ness, therefore,  was  not  like  that  of  Jacques,  cyni- 
cal; or  like  that  of  Macbeth,  the  outgrowth  of  a 
selfish,  unloving,  diabolic  nature.  Nor  was  it  caused 
by  anxiety  about  his  merchandise,  or  by  being  in 
love,  as  Salanio  and  Salarino  thought.  Neither 
was  it  an  affectation  of  wisdom  as  Gratiano  said. 


uo  Shakespeare's  Plots 

It  was  not  the  scholar  s  melancholy,  which  is  emula- 
tion, nor  the  musician  s,  which  is  fantastical,  nor  the 
courtier  s,  which  is  proud,  nor  the  soldier  s,  which  is 
ambitious,  nor  the  lawyer's,  which  is  politic,  nor  the 
lady's,  which  is  nice,  nor  the  lover's,  which  is  all 
these.1  It  was  a  presentiment  of  coming  trouble. 
It  was  derived  from  some  forefather  grief  In  its 
nature  it  was  similar  to-that  of  the  Queen  of  Richard 
II.,  who  said: 

...     methinks, 
Some  unborn  sorrow,  ripe  in  fortune's  womb, 
Is  coming  towards  me,  and  my  inward  soul 
With  nothing  trembles.* 

Antonio's  sadness  was  a  vague  apprehension  of 
future  distress.  It  was  the  shadow  of  a  coming  and 
painful  event.  Its  dramatic  purpose  was  to  fore- 
shadow the  tragic  in  the  play.' 

The  group  of  young  men  by  whom  Antonio  is 
surrounded  in  this  Scene  is  jolly,  careless,  merry. 
Bassanio's  first  words,  addressed  to  Salanio  and  Sal- 
arino  as  they  are  about  to  retire,  are :  Good  signiors 
both,  when  shall  we  laugh  ?     Bassanio  and  his  friends 

1  As  You  Like  It,  IV.,  I.,  10,  seq. 

*  Richard  II.,  II.,  2,  9,  seq. 

*  Antonio's  treatment  of  Shylock,  which  was  insulting,  harsh,  al- 
most cruel,  is  not  inconsistent  with  this  estimate  of  his  character. 
Antonio's  conduct  toward  Shylock  was  the  result  of  a  just  and  in- 
tense indignation  awakened  by  the  latter's  treatment  of  helpless 
debtors. 

11  I  oft  delivered  from  his  forfeitures 
Many  that  have  at  times  made  moan  to  me." 
Indignation  and  wrath  toward  inhumanity  are  but  the  converse  of 
love  toward  benevolence. 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  141 

form  a  marked  contrast  to  Antonio.  By  means  of 
them  Shakespeare  betokens  the  joy  and  happiness 
which  are  portrayed  in  the  drama,  and  with  which 
it  ends.  In  four  verses  Shakespeare  with  unerring 
skill  touches  these  two  chords,  sad  and  merry, 
which  are  to  vibrate  through  the  play: 

Then  let  us  say  you  are  sad, 
Because  you  are  not  merry;  and  't  were  as  easy 
For  you  to  laugh  and  leap  and  say  you  are  merry, 
Because  you  are  not  sad. 

The  sad  Antonio,  the  merry  young  men,  intro- 
duced to  us  in  this  opening  Scene,  both  embody 
and  foretoken  the  tragic  and  the  comic  in  the  play. 

II.  Antonio  was  a  rich  merchant.  The  young 
men,  without  exception,  were  impecunious.  They 
were  poor,  improvident,  prodigal.  Every  one  of 
them,  if  candid,  could  have  made  a  statement 
similar  to  that  of  Bassanio: 

'T  is  not  unknown  to  you,  Antonio, 
How  much  I  have  disabled  mine  estate, 
By  something  showing  a  more  swelling  port 
Than  my  faint  means  would  grant  continuance. 

Lorenzo,  Gratiano,  when  they  wooed,  could  have 
said  as  did  Bassanio: 

Gentle  lady, 
When  I  did  first  impart  my  love  to  you, 
I  freely  told  you,  all  the  wealth  I  had 
Ran  in  my  veins,  I  was  a  gentleman. 


i42  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Hence  the  young  men  attributed  Antonio's  sadness 
to  the  dangers  which  threatened  his  argosies: 

I  know,  Antonio 
Is  sad  to  think  upon  his  merchandise. 

When  Antonio  assured  them  they  were  mistaken, 
they  immediately  jumped  to  the  conclusion: 

Why,  then  you  are  in  love. 

In  this  conversation  the  action  of  the  drama  is  fore. 
shadowed.  The  Main  Action  is  the  love  affair  ol 
Bassanio  and  Portia.  The  principal  Sub-Action  it 
the  loan  of  three  thousand  ducats,  and  the  tragic 
outcome  of  that  loan.  Thus,  we  perceive  the  Main 
and  the  principal  Sub-Action  refer  to  love  and 
money.  In  the  first  Scene  of  the  Introduction 
those  subjects  are  referred  to,  commented  on,  and 
impressed  on  the  mind  of  the  spectator. 

III.  The  most  important  factor  in  this  Scene  h 
Bassanio's  conversation  with  Antonio.  It  is  in 
direct  connection  not  only  with  the  Main  Action, 
but  also  with  the  principal  Sub-Action.  Both  arc 
the  outcome  of  it.  This  conversation  is  first  retro 
spective.     Antonio  opens  it  by  asking  a  question: 

Well,  tell  me  now  what  lady  is  the  same 
To  whom  you  swore  a  secret  pilgrimage, 
That  you  to-day  promised  to  tell  me  of  ? 

Bassanio,  after  describing  his  insolvent  condition, 
said : 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  143 

In  Belmont  is  a  lady  richly  left; 
And  she  is  fair  and,  fairer  than  that  word, 
Of  wondrous  virtues:  sometimes  from  her  eyes 
I  did  receive  fair  speechless  messages: 
Her  name  is  Portia,  nothing  undervalued 
To  Cato's  daughter,  Brutus'  Portia: 


0  my  Antonio,  had  I  but  the  means 
To  hold  a  rival  place  with  one  of  them, 

1  have  a  mind  presages  me  such  thrift, 
That  I  should  questionless  be  fortunate! 

In  these  lines  the  Main  Action  is  clearly  fore- 
shadowed. Antonio's  suggestion,  which  is  in  reply, 
is  the  source  of  the  principal  Sub-Action: 

Try  what  my  credit  can  in  Venice  do: 
That  shall  be  rack'd,  even  to  the  uttermost, 
To  furnish  thee  to  Belmont,  to  fair  Portia. 
Go,  presently  inquire,  and  so  will  I, 
Where  money  is,  and  I  no  question  make 
To  have  it  of  my  trust  or  for  my  sake. 

In  this  Scene  the  hero,  his  kinsman  Antonio,  and 
his  young  friends  are  introduced.  All  that  it  is  ne- 
cessary the  spectator  should  know,  both  of  Antonio's 
and  Bassanio's  past,  is  related.  The  future  experi- 
ences of  each  are  foreshadowed.  The  Scene  closes 
with  arrangements  for  securing  the  loan  necessary 
to  enable  Bassanio  to  woo  Portia. 

Shakespeare  now  transfers  the  scene  of  the  drama 
from  Venice  to  Belmont.  A  room  in  Portia  s  house. 
The  principal  female  characters  in  the  play,  Portia 


i44  Shakespeare's  Plots 

and  Nerissa,  enter.  The  first  words  uttered  by 
Portia,  like  those  spoken  by  Antonio,  express  weari- 
ness, unrest : 

By  my  troth,  Nerissa,  my  little  body  is  aweary  of  this 
great  world. 

Portia's  feeling  is  hardly  one  of  sorrow.  It  is  not 
so  pronounced  as  that.  Rather  it  is  a  sweet,  dainty, 
sentimental  melancholy,  born  of  that  unsatisfied 
longing  of  her  nature  to  love  and  to  be  loved. 
This  she  reveals  a  moment  later,  when  she  says: 

But  this  reasoning  is  not  in  the  fashion  to  choose  me  a 
husband. 

The  artistic  effect  of  Portia's,  like  Antonio's, 
opening  words  is  twofold:  by  means  of  them  the 
tragic  in  the  play  is  foreshadowed ;  also,  the  happi- 
ness pervading  the  latter  part  of  the  play  is  brought 
into  bolder  relief  and  made  more  vivid.  "  The  true 
nurse  of  light  is  in  art,  as  in  nature,  the  cloud;  a 
misty  and  tender  darkness,  made  lovely  by  grada- 
tion." '  Shakespeare  in  the  Introduction  of  this 
play  conforms  to  this  law  of  Nature  and  of  Art.  By 
a  skilful  use  of  Gradation  and  Contrast,  the  weari- 
ness and  sadness  pervading  the  Introduction  con- 
trast with  the  gladness  and  joy  of  the  Catastrophe. 
The  result  is,  the  latter  are  made  more  radiant. 

Portia  describes  her  body  as  little.  This  is  one 
of  those  minor  touches  in  which  Shakespeare  mani- 
fests his  genius.  He  possessed  a  most  vivid  percep- 
tion of  the  connotive  as  well  as  the  denotive  effect 

1  Ruskin,  Lectures  on  Art,  Brantwood  edition,  p.  205. 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  145 

of  words.  "  The  power  of  poetry,"  says  Cole-' 
ridge,  "  is,  by  a  single  word  perhaps,  to  instil  that 
energy  into  the  mind  which  compels  the  imagination 
to  produce  the  picture."  '  Shakespeare  frequently 
by  the  use  of  an  adjective  manifests  the  power  of 
poetry  to  stimulate  the  imagination.  Prospero,  de- 
scribing to  Miranda  the  ill-treatment  of  his  brother, 
said: 

.     .     .     one  midnight 
Fated  to  the  purpose  did  Antonio  open 
The  gates  of  Milan,  and,  i'  the  dead  of  darkness, 
The  ministers  for  the  purpose  hurried  thence 
Me  and  thy  crying  self. 

What  more  perfectly  could  suggest  a  picture  of 
helpless  and  suffering  infancy  than  the  word  crying  ? 
Lady  Macbeth  in  the  agony  of  remorse  says: 

All  the  perfumes  of  Arabia  will  not  sweeten  this  little 
hand. 

Immediately  the  imagination  conceives  a  woman, 
not  large,  gross,  Amazonian,  but  small,  delicate; 
one  whose  crimes,  therefore,  are  all  the  more  ap- 
palling. Shylock  describes  his  hate  toward  Antonio 
as  a  lodg'd  hate.  That  adjective  defines  with  the 
utmost  accuracy  the  nature  of  Shylock's  antipathy 
to  Antonio.  Amongst  the  first  words  Portia  utters 
are  my  little  body.  The  phrase,  which  in  itself  is 
very  descriptive,  becomes  all  the  more  forceful  by 
contrast  with  this  great  world.  Portia's  description 
of  herself  leads  us  to  imagine  her  as  small,  gentle. 

1  Lectures  on  Shakespeare,  Bonn's  edition,  p.  138. 


H6  Shakespeare's  Plots 

refined,  and  in  every  way  feminine.  So  far  as  het 
physical  nature  is  concerned,  she  is  a  counterpart  of 
Imogen,  of  whom  Iachimo  said: 

All  of  her  that  is  out  of  door  most  rich! 

To  return  from  this  digression:  at  the  beginning 
of  this  Scene  the  chord  of  sadness  is  just  touched 
by  Portia  when  Nerissa  tells  us  all  that  it  is  neces- 
sary to  know  of  Portia's  circumstances.  She  is 
rich,  her  good  fortunes  are  abundant.  Portia's 
reply  to  Nerissa  reveals  herself  as  not  only  pensive 
and  romantic,  but  also  practical.  She  utters  a 
word,  Choose,  that  is  to  resound  all  tfi  ough  the 
play.  Again  and  again  does  Shakespeare  repeat 
this  word  in  this  Scene.  The  Scene  is  brief,  but 
choose  occurs  in  it  ten  times,  and  the  cognate  word 
chosen  once.  Every  time  it  is  repeated  it  points  to 
the  three  caskets  on  which  are  the  inscriptions: 

"  Who  chooseth  me  shall  gain  what  many  men  desire  "; 
"  Who  chooseth  me  shall  get  as  much  as  he  deserves  "; 
"  Who  chooseth  me  must  give  and  hazard  all  he  hath." 

Thus  by  iteration  and  reiteration  of  this  word  the 
mind  of  the  spectator  is  directed  to  the  caskets, 
the  choice  of  one  of  which  by  Bassanio  forms  the 
Climax  of  the  play. 

Nerissa  then  refers  to  the  will  of  Portia's  father, 
and  asks, 

But  what  warmth  is  there  in  your  affection  towards 
any  of  these  princely  suitors  that  are  already  come  ? 

Portia's  reply  to  this  question,  which  constitutes  the 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  147 

largest  part  of  this  Scene,  is  important  for  two 
reasons,  viz.,  (1)  it  describes  her  suitors;  (2)  it  in- 
directly describes  herself. 

The  suitors  come  from  Italy,  Germany,  France, 
England,  Scotland.  The  character  of  each  is  dis- 
cerned by  Portia  by  means  of  that  perfect  intuition 
which  woman  possesses,  and  in  the  exercise  of 
which  she  is  so  superior  to  man.  The  Neapolitan 
is  a  horseman  and  nothing  more.  He  doth  nothing 
but  talk  of  his  horse  .  The  only  accomplishment  of 
which  he  can  boast  is  he  can  shoe  the  horse.  The 
County  Palatine  is  grim,  gloomy,  he  doth  nothing 
but  frown.  He  smiles  not.  Humor  is  an  absolute 
requisite  of  a  sane  mind.  Shakespeare  endows  his 
perfect  characters  with  it.  Portia  possessed  it  in  a 
highly  developed  degree.  Her  analysis  of  the 
wooers  is  keen,  thoughtful,  accurate;  at  the  same 
time  it  is  suffused  with  a  humor  which  is  subtle, 
delicate.  The  Frenchman  is  superficial,  weak.  His 
accomplishments  are  l'mited  to  dancing,  fencing. 
If  a  throstle  sing,  he  falls  straight  a  capering:  he 
"will  fence  with  his  oivn  shadow.  Falconbridge  lacks 
individuality.  The  Scotchman  is  unmanly.  The 
German  is  gross.  These  suitors  are  all  deficient  in 
those  qualities  which  constitute  the  ideal  husband. 
They  lack  cultured  intellects,  strength  of  will, 
nobility  of  nature,  refinement,  lovableness.  Portia 
rejects  them  all.  There  is  not  one  among  them  but  I 
dote  on  his  very  absence,  she  says. 

Portia's  description  of  her  suitors  is  also  a  revela- 
tion of  herself.  Our  opinions  are  reflexes  of  our- 
selves.    If  Portia  had  been  attracted  to  these  lovers 


M8  Shakespeare's  Plots 

she  would  have  been  more  or  less  like  them.  Re- 
jecting them,  she  proves  thereby  she  is  unlike  them. 
This  is  the  law  of  sympathy.  There  can  be  no  love 
without  sympathy.  Falstaff  knew  this,  and  was 
shrewd  enough  to  pretend  that  his  feigned  love  for 
Mistress  Page  was  based  on  sympathy: 

Ask  me  no  reason  why  I  love  you;  for  though  Love 
use  Reason  for  his  physician,  he  admits  him  not  for  his 
counsellor.  You  are  not  young,  no  more  am  I;  goto 
then,  there's  sympathy:  you  are  merry,  so  am  I;  ha, 
ha!  then  there's  more  sympathy:  you  love  sack,  and 
so  do  I ;  would  you  desire  better  sympathy  ? 

Thus  Falstaff,  although  gross,  unloving,  hypocriti- 
cal, was  shrewd  enough  to  recognize  the  fact  that 
sympathy  is  an  essential  quality  of  love,  and  was 
cunning  enough  to  pretend  to  Mistress  Page  that 
his  simulated  affection  for  her  was  based  on  sym- 
pathy. Portia,  speaking  of  the  bond  of  love  which 
existed  between  Antonio  and  Bassanio,  infers  there- 
from that  the  former  must  be  like  the  latter: 

For  in  companions 
That  do  converse  and  waste  the  time  together, 
Whose  souls  do  bear  an  equal  yoke  of  love, 
There  must  be  needs  a  like  proportion 
Of  lineaments,  of  manners  and  of  spirit; 
Which  makes  me  think  that  this  Antonio, 
Being  the  bosom  lover  of  my  lord, 
Must  needs  be  like  my  lord. 

Portia's  reasoning  was  strictly  correct.     As  love  be- 
tween two  persons  proves  there  must  be  sympathy 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  149 

between  them,  so  also  is  the  converse  true.  Dislike 
between  two  persons  manifests  a  lack  of  sympathy. 
Hence,  Portia,  in  rejecting  these  suitors,  reveals 
herself  as  being  unlike  them.  These  men,  whose 
intellects  are  vapid,  whose  tastes  are  gross,  sensuous, 
are  repellent  to  this  woman  whose  intuitions  are 
unerring,  whose  intellect  is  cultured,  and  whose  pas- 
sions are  made  of  nothing  but  the  finest  part  of  pure 
love. 

There  was,  however,  one  other  suitor,  and  to  him 
Portia  was  attracted.     Nerissa  asked  her: 

Do  you  not  remember,  lady,  in  your  father's  time,  a 
Venetian,  a  scholar  and  a  soldier,  that  came  hither  in 
company  of  the  Marquis  of  Montferrat  ? 

Portia  did  remember  him.  It  was  Bassanio.  Then 
Nerissa  said : 

He,  of  all  the  men  that  ever  my  foolish  eyes  looked 
upon,  was  the  best  deserving  a  fair  lady. 

Portia  endorses  this  opinion  : 

I  remember  him  well,  and  I  remember  him  worthy  of 
thy  praise. 

The  attraction  of  this  couple  to  each  other  seems 
to  have  been  immediate.  Prospero's  description  of 
the  love  of  Ferdinand  and  Miranda  applies  equally 
well  to  that  of  Bassanio  and  Portia: 

At  the  first  sight 
They  have  chang'd  eyes. 


150  Shakespeare's  Plots 

While  Portia  did  not  speak  with  her  lips,  she  did 
with  her  eyes.  They  involuntarily,  instinctively, 
disclosed  to  Bassanio  her  passion.  He  said  to 
Antonio: 

Sometimes  from  her  eyes 
I  did  receive  fair  speechless  messages. 

The  attraction  was  also  mutual.  Bassanio  said  o! 
Portia: 

In  Belmont  is  a  lady  richly  left; 
And  she  is  fair  and,  fairer  than  that  word, 
Of  wondrous  virtues. 

While  Portia  did  not  in  words  tell  Bassanio  of  her 
sentiments,  she  did  tell  Nerissa,  and  at  the  same 
time  ourselves,  by  echoing  Nerissa's  praise  of  him. 
The  flower  is  potentially  in  the  seed.  From  the 
nature  of  the  seed  we  can  infer  with  unerring  ac- 
curacy the  species  of  the  flower.  The  law  of  Nature 
that  every  living  thing  must  "  bear  fruit  after  its 
kind  "  applies  equally  to  Art.  If  this  play  is  perfect, 
the  Portia  of  the  Climax  and  the  Catastrophe  must 
be  the  same  as  the  Portia  of  the  Introduction,  only 
developed,  matured,  perfected.  This  she  is.  The 
Portia  whose  little  body  is  aiveary  of  this  great  world, 
who  abides  faithfully  by  the  restrictions  of  her 
father's  will,  who  is  dissatisfied  with  all  of  her 
wooers  except  Bassanio,  and  who  remembers  him 
as  best  deserving  a  fair  lady  is  potentially  the  wise, 
gracious,  soulful,  queenly  woman  who  becomes  the 
wife  of  Bassanio,  and  the  saviour  of  Antonio. 

The   Scene   ends  with  the  departure  of  the  re- 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  15 l 

jected  suitors,  and  the  announcement  of  the  coming 
of  a  fifth,  the  Prince  of  Morocco. 

The  Introduction  of  this  play  is  composed  wholly 
of  conversation,  narration.  Nothing  has  been  done. 
In  Scene  I  only  men  were  introduced,  in  Scene  2 
only  women.  Omitting  further  reference  to  Scene 
i,  in  Scene  2  all  that  it  is  necessary  for  us  to  know 
of  Portia's  past  and  present  history,  her  wealth,  her 
father's  will,  her  wooers,  is  revealed.  The  future 
is  foreshadowed.  The  word  choose  points  to  the 
caskets.  The  opinion  of  Bassanio,  expressed  by 
Nerissa,  and  endorsed  by  Portia,  indicates  him  as 
the  successful  chooser.  That  choice  is  the  Climax 
of  the  play,  and  upon  it  the  success  of  the  drama 
hinges.  This  Scene,  and  also  the  Introduction  as  a 
whole,  are  closed  by  the  shutting  of  the  gates  of 
Portia's  mansion  at  Belmont  upon  the  departing 
suitors.  When  they  are  reopened  for  the  entrance 
of  the  Prince  of  Morocco,  the  action  of  the  drama, 
so  far  as  Portia  is  a  factor  therein,  begins. 

Such  is  the  perfect  Introduction.  It  is  both  ret- 
rospective and  prospective.  Detail  after  detail, 
each  one  of  which  is  apposite,  is  mentioned  with  a 
cumulative  effect.  Omit  one  of  them  and  the  In- 
troduction would  become  imperfect,  as  much  as  the 
removal  of  a  petal  from  a  flower,  a  note  from  the 
song  of  the  bird  or  from  a  symphony,  would  mar 
the  perfection  and  beauty  of  the  flower,  the  song, 
the  symphony.  "  Beauty,"  said  Michelangelo,  "is 
the  purgation  of  superfluities."  Each  word,  each 
sentence  in  this  Introduction  is  necessary  to  its 
perfection,  and  each,  like  the  stars  appearing  one 


152  Shakespeare's  Plots 

after  another  in  early  evening,  contributes  its  ray  of 
light. 

The  Introduction  if  complete  must  not  only  ap- 
peal to  the  intellect,  it  must  also  stimulate  the 
emotions.  The  merry  and  sad  are  but  the  precur- 
sors of  the  tragic  and  the  comic  which  permeate  the 
play.  They  foreshadow  the  fiendish  malignity  of 
Shylock,  the  acute  and  pathetic  suffering  of  An- 
tonio, the  joy  of  the  three  pairs  of  happy  lovers, 
which,  in  each  case,  finds  its  consummation  in 
marriage. 

Thus  Shakespeare,  the  artist,  follows  the  method 
of  the  Creator.  Art  imitates  Nature.  The  coming 
storm  is  presaged  by  rolling  thunder,  dark,  threaten, 
ing  clouds.  The  bright,  sunshiny  day  is  heralded 
by  the  aurora. 

THE  ARGOSIES 

Before  proceeding  to  study  the  Growth,  the  next 
division  of  the  drama,  I  wish  to  consider  Antonio's 
argosies. 

It  is  a  canon  of  Art  that  there  must  not  be  in  the 
finished  product  any  factor,  no  matter  how  trivial, 
how  insignificant,  which  does  not  in  some  way,  to 
some  degree,  conduce  to  the  general  effect.  When 
applied  to  a  drama  this  means  there  must  be  no  lay 
figure,  no  action,  no  word,  which  does  not  aid  in 
producing  the  Catastrophe.  In  this  play  Shake- 
speare has  introduced  argosies.  What  is  their  dra- 
matic function  ?  They  constitute  the  Environing 
Action. 

The  Environing  Action  is  not  the  environment 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  153 

The  latter  is  the  local  color,  the  pervasive  atmos- 
phere, the  general  conditions  surrounding  a  drama. 
It  pertains  to  topography,  or  to  the  period  when  the 
action  took  place,  or  to  social  conditions,  e.  g.,  in- 
tellectual, moral,  national.  It  is  to  a  drama  what 
the  setting  is  to  a  gem  or  a  story  or  a  melody.  Nor, 
as  the  term  erroneously  implies,  is  the  Environing 
Action  an  action.  It  may  be  defined  as  an  influ- 
ence, a  stimulating  circumstance,  external  to  the 
action  of  the  drama,  yet  indirectly  affecting  that 
action. 

While  the  Environing  Action  is  not  the  environ- 
ment, it  must  be  in  perfect  harmony  therewith.  In 
a  work  of  Art  there  must  be  harmony  of  effects. 
This  is  one  principle  underlying  the  Greek  law  of 
Unity.  That  law  was,  a  drama  should  be  restricted 
to  the  portrayal  of  one  action,  occurring  in  one  place, 
and  on  one  day.  While  in  some  respects  imperfect 
and  misleading,  it  contained  a  fundamental  truth, 
vis.,  that  in  a  drama  the  environment  must  be  in 
harmony  with  the  action.  Buckingham,  speaking 
of  Wolsey,  said : 

His  mind  and  place 
Infecting  one  another,  yea,  reciprocally. 

In  a  drama  the  environment  and  the  action  must  be 
harmonious;  between  the  two  there  must  be  a  living 
correspondence,  each  infecting  one  another,  yea, 
reciprocally. ' 

If  Shakespeare  had  introduced  Venetian  argosies 

1  '*  But  if  in  foreign  realms  you  fix  your  scene, 
Their  genius,  customs,  dialects  maintain." 

Ars  Poetica. 


154  Shakespeare's  Plots 

into  Macbeth,  or  Scotch  witches  into  the  Merchant 
of  Venice,  he  would  have  violated  this  canon  of  dra- 
matic art.     He  makes   no  such  mistake.     On  the 
contrary,  the  introduction  of  the  argosies  as  the  En- 
vironing Action  in  this  play  is  in  the  highest  degree 
artistic,  and  in  thorough  accord  with  the  environ- 
ment.    Venice,    the   scene   of   the   play,    was   the 
"  Bride  of  the  Sea."  '     She  was  so  called  from  the 
ancient  ceremony  of  the  doge  throwing  a  ring  into 
the  Adriatic  Sea,  saying  as  he  did  so,  "  We  wed 
thee,  O    Sea!  in  token  of  perpetual  domination." 
She  was  a  great  water  commonwealth,  founded  upon 
numerous  islands  between  which  the  "  many  twink- 
ling "  waters  of  the  Adriatic  ebbed  and  flowed.     She 
had  no  broad  footing  upon  the  land.    She  was  built 
on  the  shifting  sands  of  lagoons  and  morasses.     Her 
prosperity,  her  very  life,  depended  on  the  sea.    Her 
dominion  was  on  the  waters.    Her  navies  were  at  that 
time,  the  twelfth  and  immediately  succeeding  cen- 
turies, the  most  powerful  on  earth.      Her  mariners 
knew  all  the  coasts  of  Europe.     Before  Columbus 
was  born  they  found  their  way  to  Iceland,  Labra- 
dor, and,  it  is  claimed  by  some,  to  Newfoundland. 
Marco  Polo  had  prayed  to  St.  Mark  in  Tartary,  In- 
dia, Cathay.     At  the  end  of  the  thirteenth  century 
the  golden  ducats  of  Dandolo  came  into  existence. 
They  were  carried  far  beyond  the  confines  of  Eu- 
rope.    Clive,  after  the  battle  of  Plassy,  came  upon 
the  hoarded  treasures  of  the  East,  and  found  ducats 
carried  of  old  to  these  distant  regions  by  Venetian 
traders.     Venetian  galleys  carried  wine  to  England. 

1  Cf.  Dallas,   The  Gay  Science,  vol.  ii.,  p.  253,  seq. 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  155 

On  the  return  voyages  they  brought  iron  from 
Staffordshire,  tin  from  Cornwall  and  Devon,  woo' 
from  Sussex.  They  transported  honey  to  the  Scyth- 
ians; wood  to  the  Greeks  and  the  Egyptians;  saf- 
fron, oil,  linen,  to  Syria,  Persia,  Arabia.  In  a  word, 
the  Venetians  were  in  the  twelfth  century  what  the 
English  were  in  the  nineteenth,  the  great  carriers  of 
the  world.  The  postal  service  between  Germany 
and  Constantinople  was  accomplished  by  Venetian 
galleys.  At  that  early  period  the  Pope  sent  a  mes- 
sage to  the  Ducal  government,  requesting  free  navi- 
gation of  the  Gulf  of  Venice.  The  Doge  replied: 
"Venice,  having  no  lands,  depended  on  the  sea; 
her  home  and  paths  were  on  the  deep.  It  was, 
therefore,  of  vital  importance  to  her  that  the  Lion 
of  St.  Mark  should  rule  the  water."  The  Pope's 
request  was  denied. 

The  scene  of  this  lovely  drama  was  a  maritime  re- 
public. In  perfect  harmony  therewith  is  the  En- 
vironing Action,  which  is  the  argosies  of  Antonio. 
With  the  opening  words  of  the  Introduction,  they 
are  brought  to  the  attention  of  the  spectator.  Fre- 
quently, as  the  action  of  the  play  progresses,  are 
they  referred  to.  At  the  end  of  the  Catastrophe, 
Portia  speaks  of  them  to  Antonio.  All  the  while 
do  they,  as  it  were,  sail  on  the  outskirts  of  the  ac- 
tion of  this  drama,  exerting  thereon  an  invisible, 
silent,  but  potent  influence. 

Salarino,  in  the  opening  lines  of  the  play,  refers 
to  them  as  the  cause  of  Antonio's  sadness: 

Your  mind  is  tossing  on  the  ocean; 
There,  where  your  argosies  with  portly  sail, 


156  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Like  signiors  and  rich  burghers  on  the  flood, 
Or,  as  it  were,  the  pageants  of  the  sea, 
Do  overpeer  the  petty  traffickers, 
That  curtsy  to  them,  do  them  reverence, 
As  they  fly  by  them  with  their  woven  wings. 

Salanio  continues  in  the  same  strain,  and  describes 
the  dangers  which  threaten  them.  These  dangers 
are  real,  and  eventually  bring  to  a  climax  the  tragic 
in  the  play.  This  reference  to  these  dangers  is  in- 
tended by  Shakespeare  to  be  a  premonitory  sugges- 
tion, a  mysterious  hint. 

After  Bassanio  has  revealed  to  Antonio  his  love 
for  Portia,  and  asked  financial  assistance  to  enable 
him  to  woo  her,  Antonio  said: 

Thou  know'st  that  all  my  fortunes  are  at  sea. 

The  next  reference  to  the  argosies  is  made  by  Shy- 
lock.  Bassanio  has  offered  Antonio  as  security  for 
the  loan.  Shylock  considers  Antonio's  availability 
as  such : 

Yet  his  means  are  in  supposition:  he  hath  an  argosy 
bound  to  Tripolis,  another  to  the  Indies;  I  understand, 
moreover,  upon  the  Rialto,  he  hath  a  third  at  Mexico, 
a  fourth  for  England,  and  other  ventures  he  hath,  squan- 
dered abroad.  But  ships  are  but  boards,  sailors  but 
men:  there  be  land-rats  and  water-rats,  water-thieves 
and  land-thieves,  I  mean  pirates,  and  then  there  is  the 
peril  of  waters,  winds  and  rocks 

The  dangers  threatening  the  argosies,  which  have 
already  been  referred  to  by  Salarino  and  Salanio, 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  157 

are  here  described  by  Shylock  more  vividly.  These 
perils,  which,  up  to  this  time,  have  been  merely  un- 
substantial, imaginary,  now  become  real.  A  vessel 
is  lost.     Salarino  said: 

I  reason'd  with  a  Frenchman  yesterday, 
Who  told  me,  in  the  narrow  seas  that  part 
The  French  and  English,  there  miscarried 
A  vessel  of  our  country  richly  fraught: 
I  thought  upon  Antonio  when  he  told  me, 
And  wish'd  in  silence  that  it  were  not  his. 

A  little  later  this  rumor  is  reiterated  by  Salarino, 
who  says : 

It  lives  there  [on  the  Rialto]  unchecked,  that  Antonio 
hath  a  ship  of  rich  lading  wrecked  on  the  narrow  seas  ; 
the  Goodwins,  I  think  they  call  the  place. 

This  report  is  confirmed  by  Salanio: 

But  it  is  true,  without  any  slips  of  prolixity  or  crossing 
the  plain  highway  of  talk,  that  the  good  Antonio,  the 
honest  Antonio,     .     .     .     hath  lost  a  ship. 

What  Shakespeare  from  the  beginning  delicately 
foreshadowed  has  now  taken  place.  Antonio  .  .  . 
hath  lost  a  ship.  This  was  but  the  beginning  of 
Antonio's  misfortunes. 

When  sorrows  come,  they  come  not  single  spies, 
But  in  battalions. 

Tubal  when  in  Genoa  seeking  Shylock's  daughter 
and  ducats  heard  that  Antonio 


i58  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Hath  an  argosy  cast  away,  coming  from  Tripolis. 

This  is  followed  very  shortly  by  the  sad  news  con- 
veyed to  Bassanio  in  Antonio's  letter: 

Sweet  Bassanio,  my  ships  have  all  miscarried. 

This  news,  so  unexpected,  following  so  quickly  Bas- 
sanio's  good  fortune  in  winning  Portia,  seems  to 
him  incredible.     Turning  to  Salerio,  he  inquires: 

But  is  it  true,  Salerio  ? 
Have  all  his  ventures  fail'd  ?     What,  not  one  hit  ? 
From  Tripolis,  from  Mexico  and  England, 
From  Lisbon,  Barbary  and  India  ? 
And  not  one  vessel  'scape  the  dreadful  touch 
Of  merchant-marring  rocks  ? 

Salerio  replies,  Not  one,  my  lord.  As  a  result  An- 
tonio's 

creditors  grow  cruel,  my  estate  is  very  low,  my  bond  to 
the  Jew  is  forfeit. 

The  Climax  of  the  drama  has  been  reached.  As 
a  consequence,  both  the  nature  and  the  direction  of 
the  action  are  changed.  Previously  comic  or  roman- 
tic.  it  now  temporarily  becomes  tragic.  Before  it 
hac[ ascended  to  the  Climax;  now  it  descends  to  the 
Catastrophe.  Immediately  after  the  reading  of  An- 
tonio's letter,  the  Fall,  the  fourth  dramatic  division, 
begins.  That,  in  this  play,  is  very  brief,  and  con- 
tains no  reference  to  the  argosies.  At  the  beginning 
of  the  Catastrophe,  the  Duke,  in  his  address  to  Shy- 
lock,  alludes  to  them  and  their  loss: 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  159 

Glancing  an  eye  of  pity  on  his  losses, 
That  have  of  late  so  huddled  on  his  back, 
Enow  to  press  a  royal  merchant  down. 

The  appeal  to  Shylock's  mercy  is  in  vain.    The  trial 
proceeds. 

This  play  is  primarily  a  comedy,  and,  as  such, 
must  end  happily.  And  so  it  does,  not  only  for 
the  lovers,  but  for  Antonio.  When  the  joyous  group 
assembled  in  her  mansion  at  Belmont,  Portia  said: 

Antonio,  you  are  welcome; 
And  I  have  better  news  in  store  for  you 
Than  you  expect:  unseal  this  letter  soon; 
There  you  shall  find  three  of  your  argosies 
Are  richly  come  to  harbour  suddenly. 

Antonio  replies: 

Sweet  lady,  you  have  given  me  life  and  living, 
For  here  I  read  for  certain  that  my  ships 
Are  safely  come  to  road. 

Thus,  these  argosies  are,  in  this  drama,  the  En. 
vironing  Action.  They  sailed  away  from  Venice 
before  the  action  began.  Again  and  again  do  we 
hear  of  them  as  the  action  progresses.  On  the  con- 
clusion of  that  action,  they  return.  They  are  inani- 
mate. They  have  not  done,  they  could  not  do 
anything.  Yet  their  influence  on  the  Main  and 
Sub-Actions  of  the  drama  has  been  subtle,  diffused, 
continuous,  puissant.  Their  loss,  or  reputed  loss# 
brought  the  principal  Sub-Action  to  a  climax.  That 
was  their  mission.     For  that  sole  purpose  were  they 


i6o  Shakespeare's  Plots 

introduced  by  Shakespeare.  When  that  was  ac- 
complished, they  subserved  no  further  dramatic 
purpose,  and,  as  Portia  announces  to  Antonio: 

Three  of  your  argosies 
Are  richly  come  to  harbour  suddenly. 

THE  GROWTH 

i.,  3-n.,  6. 

The  Growth  of  this  play  begins  with  the  conver- 
sation between  Bassanio  and  Shylock  in  reference 
to  the  loan.  That  conversation  is  the  direct  result 
of  a  previous  one,  the  recital  of  which  Shakespeare 
has  given  in  Scene  I.  Toward  the  close  of  that 
Scene  Bassanio  had  appealed  to  Antonio  for  finan- 
cial assistance  to  enable  him  to  woo  Portia.  An- 
tonio cheerfully  and  promptly  responded: 

Thou  know'st  that  all  my  fortunes  are  at  sea; 
Neither  have  I  money  nor  commodity 
To  raise  a  present  sum:  therefore  go  forth; 
Try  what  my  credit  can  in  Venice  do:  seq. 

Bassanio  did  go  forth,  and  made  the  trial  of  what 
Antonio's  credit  could  in  Venice  do.  Scene  3  opens 
with  a  description  of  Bassanio's  effort. 

The  Growth  of  a  drama  begins  with  the  com- 
mencement of  the  action.  It  is  described  by  Frey- 
tag  as  "  the  arousement."  In  this  play,  the  first 
thing  done  is  the  contraction  of  the  loan.  Hence, 
the  beginning  of  that  act  is  the  boundary  line  be- 
tween the  Introduction  and  the  Growth. 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  16 1 

In  a  drama  Complication  begins  with  the  Growth. 
It  marks  the  commencement  of  the  desis,  the  Com- 
plication or  involution  of  Plot.  The  moment  An- 
tonio signs  the  bond  he  places  himself  in  jeopardy. 
So  real,  so  potent,  is  this  danger,  so  quickly  does 
it  assert  itself,  that  the  current  of  Antonio's  life  im- 
mediately changes.  Prosperity  gives  way  to  adver- 
sity. The  princely  merchant  becomes  the  bankrupt 
debtor.  The  tragedy  in  the  play  is  the  outgrowth 
of  the  loan. 

Complication  in  the  Growth  of  this  play  is  further 
manifested  by  the  entrance  of  Shylock.  With  his 
appearance  begins  what  may  be  described  as  the 
Jew  side  of  the  action.  The  latter  is  a  Sub-Action. 
The  Main  Action  is  the  love  affair  of  Portia  and 
Bassanio.  All  characters  connected  with  that  are 
brought  forward  in  the  Introduction.  Shylock, 
Jessica,  the  loan,  the  elopement,  the  trial,  and  every- 
thing relating  to  these  persons  and  events  are  Sub- 
Actions.  With  their  entrance  the  two  stories,  that 
of  Bassanio  and  Portia,  that  of  Shylock  and  the 
loan,  meet  for  the  first  time.  As  a  consequence, 
Complication  ensues.  As  in  this  play,  so  in  every 
drama,  Complication  and  Growth  are  concurrent. 

In  no  division  of  the  drama  more  than  in  the 
Growth  does  the  poet  manifest  invention.  The  fol- 
lowing characters  which  first  appear  in  the  Growth 
are  Shakespeare's  own  creation :  The  Prince  of 
Morocco,  Launcelot  Gobbo,  Old  Gobbo,  Jessica. 
Further,  every  incident  in  the  Growth,  except  the 
bare  fact  of  the  loan,  is  original  with  Shakespeare. 

The    first    words    uttered    by    Shylock :     Three 


162  Shakespeare's  Plots 

thousand  ducats,  well,  touch  one  of  the  chords  that  vi- 
brates  through  the  play.  In  considering  Scene  I,  I 
called  attention  to  a  group  consisting  of  Antonio, 
the  rich  merchant,  surrounded  by  several  young 
men,  every  one  of  whom  was  poor.  The  latter  at- 
tributed Antonio's  sadness  to  dangers  threatening 
his  argosies,  and  afterward  to  his  being  in  love. 
Shakespeare  thus  foreshadowed  the  principal  motive 
of  the  drama,  love;  and  also  a  subsidiary  one, 
money.  Shylock  in  his  opening  sentence  touches 
the  latter  chord.  He  reveals  himself  as  the  money- 
lender, the  money-lover.  Yet  he  was  not  a  miser. 
He  was  more  avaricious  than  miserly.  He  loved 
money,  but  that  was  not  the  only,  or  the  all-absorb- 
ing, passion  of  his  nature.  He  never  apostrophizes 
his  wealth  as  does  Barabas  in  Marlowe's  Jeiv  of 
Malta : 

Bags  of  fiery  opals,  sapphires,  amethysts, 

Jacinths,  hard  topaz,  grass-green  emeralds, 

Beauteous  rubies,  sparkling  diamonds, 

And  seld-seen  costly  stone  of  so  great  price, 

As  one  of  them  indifferently  rated, 

May  serve  in  peril  of  calamity 

To  ransom  great  kings  from  captivity. 

This  is  the  ware  wherein  consists  my  wealth; 

Infinite  riches  in  a  little  room. 

Shylock  mourned  the  loss  of  his  ducats,  his  dia- 
mond, his  turquoise  ring,  and  other  precious,  precious 
jewels,  but  he  never  apostrophized  them.  In  him 
fanaticism,  vindictiveness,  were  as  highly  devel- 
oped, as  overmastering,  as  avarice.  When  he  first 
sees  Antonio,  he  reveals,  in  an  Aside,  his  real  nature: 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  163 

How  like  a  fawning  publican  he  looks!  ' 

I  hate  him  for  he  is  a  Christian, 

But  more  for  that  in  low  simplicity 

He  lends  out  money  gratis  and  brings  down 

The  rate  of  usance  here  with  us  in  Venice. 

If  I  can  catch  him  once  upon  the  hip, 

I  will  feed  fat  the  ancient  grudge  I  bear  him. 

In  court  he  refused  Bassanio's  offer  of 

1  Prof.  Moulton  {Shakespeare  as  a  Dramatic  Artist,  pp.  6l,  62) 
says:  "No  commentator  has  succeeded  in  making  intelligible  the 
line  "  How  like  a  fawning  publican  he  looks,'  as  it  stands  in  the  text 
at  the  opening  of  Sh\  lock's  ■soliloquy.  The  expression  'fawning 
publican  '  is  so  totally  the  opposite  of  all  the  qualities  of  Antonio 
that  it  could  have  no  force  even  in  the  mouth  of  a  satirist,"  sea.  He 
proposes  to  solve  the  difficulty  by  resigning  this  line  to  Antonio,  and 
supposing  it  to  be  spoken  of  Shylock.  Prof.  Moulton  is  entirely 
correct  in  the  opinion  that  as  a  description  of  Antonio  it  is  incorrect. 
Antonio  was  not  a  publican,  much  less  a  fawning  publican.  He 
was  the  princely  merchant,  the  loyal,  loving,  generous  friend.  He 
was,  as  Bassanio  described  him  : 

"  The  dearest  friend  to  me,  the  kindest  man, 
The  best-condition'd  and  unwearied  spirit 
In  doing  courtesies  ;  and  one  in  whom 
The  ancient  Roman  honour  more  appears 
Than  any  that  draws  breath  in  Italy." 

Is  not  the  cause  of  Shylock's  mistaken  judgment  of  Antonio  the  fact 
that  he  judges  Antonio  by  himself?  Has  not  personal  equation  led 
Shylock  astray?  The  latter  is  coarse,  unrefined,  ungentle,  and, 
therefore,  is  unfitted  to  discern  clearly  or  to  describe  truthfully  a 
good,  refined,  gentle  man.  That  delicacy  and  refinement,  both  of 
thought  and  feeling,  which  characterized  Antonio,  and  which  are  the 
result  of  high  birth  and  good  breeding,  seemed  to  Shylock,  as  they 
always  do  to  coarse  natures,  weakness.  Hence,  judging  Antonio  by 
himself,  Shylock  describes  him  as  a  fawning  publican.  Shake- 
speare thus  makes  Shylock,  as  by  a  reflected  light,  reveal  himself. 


1 64  Shakespeare's  Plots 

twice  the  sum:  if  that  will  not  suffice, 
I  will  be  bound  to  pay  it  ten  times  o'er, 
On  forfeit  of  my  hands,  my  head,  my  heart.' 

This  is  not  the  action  of  a  man  in  whom  every 
emotion  is  secondary  to  a  love  of  money.  Shylock 
was  not  a  miser.  Nor  has  Shakespeare  ever  por- 
trayed a  miser.'  In  this  he  manifests,  negatively, 
his  genius.  He  depicts  those  qualities  only  which 
are  essential,  fundamental,  eternal,  the  perennial 
beneath  the  deciduous,  in  human  nature.  The  love 
of  money  which  is  so  highly  developed  as  to  make 
a  man  a  miser  is  not  such.  It  is  rather  incidental, 
factitious,  abnormal.  A  miser,  both  mentally  and 
emotionally,  is  unbalanced.  He  is  insane.  Hence, 
among  all  the  creations  of  Shakespeare  there  is  no 
miser.  Shylock  was  not  that.  He  loved  money. 
Equally  strong  with  this  love,  if  not  more  so,  were 
his  fanaticism,  his  desire  for  vengeance. 

Antonio  and  Shylock  do  not  meet  here  for  the 
first  time.  They  had  long  known  each  other.  Nor 
were  they  friends.  On  the  contrary,  they  were 
foes.  Antonio  had  spurned  Shylock.  As  a  result, 
Shylock  bore  toward  Antonio  an  ancient  grudge.  On 
this  occasion  Antonio  opens  the  conference  by  some 
remarks  on  the  subject  of  interest: 

Shylock,  although  I  neither  lend  nor  borrow 
By  taking  nor  by  giving  of  excess, 
Yet,  to  supply  the  ripe  wants  of  my  friend, 
I  '11  break  a  custom. 

1  Cf.  also  III.,  2,  280,  seq. 

'  Cf.  Coleridge,  Lectures  on  Shakespeare,  Bohn's  edition,  p.  99. 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  165 

The  discussion  on  interest  which  follows  manifests 
vividly  Shakespeare's  skill  in  dramatic  construction. 
One  of  the  stories  which  he  dramatized  in  this  play 
was,  "  Of  a  Jew,  who  would  for  his  debt  have  a 
pound  of  the  flesh  of  a  Christian."  This  story 
seems  so  brutal,  so  inhuman,  as  to  be  unnatural.  It 
is  a  canon  of  Art  that  the  dramatist  must  "  the  prob- 
able maintain."  '  The  problem  with  Shakespeare 
was  how  to  use  this  story  in  such  a  way  that  he 
could  maintain  the  probable,  and  avoid  alienating 
the  sympathy  and  interest  of  the  spectators.  In 
order  to  effect  this  he  prefaces  the  introduction  of 
the  story  by  the  discussion  on  the  subject  of  in- 
terest. So  skilfully  is  this  done  that  when  Shylock 
proposes  the  bond  with  the  forfeit  of  a  pound  of 
flesh,  Antonio  considers  it  an  expression  of  kind. 
ness: 

Content,  i'  faith:  I  Ml  seal  to  such  a  bond 
And  say  there  is  much  kindness  in  the  Jew. 

This  opinion  Antonio  reiterates  after  Shylock's 
exit: 

Hie  thee,  gentle  Jew. 
The  Hebrew  will  turn  Christian:  he  grows  kind. 

Bassanio  has  a  similar  opinion  of  Shylock's  offer. 
Speaking  of  that  he  says,  This  were  kindness.  To 
be  sure,  later,  when  he  hears  of  the  bond  and  for- 
feit, he  demurs: 

You  shall  not  seal  to  such  a  bond  for  me: 
I  '11  rather  dwell  in  my  necessity. 

1  Horace,  Ars  Poftira, 


1 66  Shakespeare's  Plots 

After  Shylock  has  retired  he  adds: 

I  like  not  fair  terms  and  a  villain's  mind. 

He  has  misgivings  as  to  Shylock's  candor,  Shylock's 
motive,  but  of  the  proposal  itself  he  makes  no  ques- 
tion. The  latter  Bassanio  describes — and  as  he  is 
conversing  with  Antonio  alone,  Shylock  having  left, 
he  would  speak  with  perfect  frankness — as  fair 
terms. 

Shylock's  offer  was  to  loan  the  money,  without 
interest,  but  on  these  terms: 

Go  with  me  to  a  notary,  seal  me  there 
Your  single  bond;  and,  in  a  merry  sport, 
If  you  repay  me  not  on  such  a  day, 
In  such  a  place,  such  sum  or  sums  as  are 
Express'd  in  the  condition,  let  the  forfeit 
Be  nominated  for  an  equal  pound 
Of  your  fair  flesh,  to  be  cut  off  and  taken 
In  what  part  of  your  body  pleaseth  me. 

This  proposition  seems  to  us  cruel,  fiendish,  full  of 
sinister  presentiments.  Why  did  Antonio  consider 
it  kind,  Bassanio  describe  it  as  fair  terms?  The  an- 
swer to  that  question  is  revealed  by  an  analysis  of 
the  discussion  between  Antonio  and  Shylock  on  the 
subject  of  interest,  by  means  of  which  Shylock  led 
up  to  this  proposal. 

As  previously  stated  a  play  must  be  in  harmony 
with  its  environment.  It  must  be  studied  in  the 
light  of  the  conditions  surrounding  the  action.  The 
opinions  expressed  by  Antonio  on  the  subject  of  in- 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  167 

terest  were  those  which  were  current  in  Venice  in 
the  Middle  Ages,  the  scene  and  date  of  this  play. 
Then,  and  from  ancient  times,  the  lending  of  money 
on  interest,  the  interest  to  be  paid  in  current  coin, 
was  considered  both  unfriendly  and  immoral.  The 
Greek  word  for  interest  is  tokos.  That  literally 
means  offspring.  The  word  is  used  in  the  Iliad  to 
describe  a  child;  in  the  Odyssey,  an  eaglet.  In- 
terest, in  ancient  and  mediaeval  times,  meant  the 
product  of  natural  growth,  say,  of  sheep  or  cattle. 
From  a  small  flock  of  sheep,  a  small  herd  of  cattle, 
there  grew  large  ones.  This  increase  was  considered 
interest.  The  argument  between  Antonio  and  Shy- 
lock  was  not  as  to  the  legitimacy  and  morality  of 
taking  interest, —  they  agreed  on  that  point:  the 
difference  between  them  was  as  to  what  constituted 
interest.  Antonio  voiced  the  opinion  on  that  sub- 
ject which  for  ages  had  been  current. 

Among  the  Jews  it  had  always  been  unlawful  to 
charge  usury.  "  If  thou  lend  money  to  any  of  my 
people  that  is  poor  by  thee,  thou  shalt  not  be  to 
him  as  an  usurer,  neither  shalt  thou  lay  upon  him 
usury."'     Aristotle  says: 

1  Exodus  xxii.,  25.  Cf,  also  Leviticus  xxv.,  35.  3ft;  Dent. 
xxiii.,  19  ;  Psalms  xv.,  5.  In  the  Tarable  of  the  Talents,  Matt. 
xxv.,  14-30,  his  lord  said  to  the  servant  to  whom  one  talent  had 
been  committed  :  "  Thou  oughtest,  therefore,  to  have  put  my  money 
to  the  exchangers,  and  then  at  my  coming  I  should  have  received 
mine  own  with  usury."  The  words  translated  "with  usury"  are 
sun  toko,  the  latter  being  the  Greek  word  for  interest.  From  this  it 
is  fair  to  presume  our  Lord  approved  of  the  taking  of  money  as  in- 
terest on  money.  This,  however,  does  not  controvert  my  statement 
that  in  His  day,  and  for  many  centuries  previous,  it  had  been,  ac- 
cording to  Jewish  law,  both  illegal  and  immoral  to  charge  usury, 


1 68  Shakespeare's  Plots 

The  natural  riches  of  all  men  arise  from  fruits  and 
from  animals.  Usury  is  most  reasonably  detested,  as 
the  increase  of  our  fortune  arises  from  the  money  itself, 
and  not  by  employing  it  for  the  purpose  for  which  it  was 
intended.  For  it  was  devised  for  the  sake  of  exchange, 
but  usury  multiplies  it.  And,  hence,  usury  has  received 
the  name  tokos t  or  produce  ;  for  whatever  is  produced  is 
itself  like  its  parents;  and  usury  is  merely  money  born 
of  money;  so  that  of  all  means  of  money-making,  this  is 
the  most  contrary  to  nature.1 

This  was  the  opinion  which  was  current  in  Greece, 
and,  hence,  usurers  were  considered  so  obnoxious 
that  the  mere  fact  of  being  a  money-lender,  Demos- 
thenes informs  us,  "  was  enough  to  prejudice  a  man 
in  a  court  of  law,  among  the  Athenians."  '  The 
sentiment  in  Rome  was  similar.  "  Cicero  mentions 
that  Cato,  being  asked  what  he  thought  of  usury, 
made  no  other  answer  to  the  question  than  by  ask- 
ing the  person  who  spoke  to  him  what  he  thought 
of  murder."  '  The  Fathers  of  the  early  Christian 
Church  inveighed  against  usury  and  usurers.  Hence, 
in  Europe,  during  the  Early  and  Middle  Ages  of  the 
Christian  era,  it  was  considered  unchristian  to  charge 
usury  for  money  loaned.'  As  a  consequence,  this 
business  fell  wholly  into  the  hands  of  the  Jews. 
These  sentiments  on  the  subject  of  interest,  so 

1  Politics,  Book  I.,  chap.  x. 

'  Dictionary  of  Greek  and  Koman  Antiquities,  p.  545.  Cf.  Grote, 
History  0/  Greece,  vol.  iii.,  p.  144. 

1  Encyclopedia  Britannica,  ninth  edition,  vol.  xxiv.,  p.  18. 

4  For  the  opinion  on  this  subject  current  in  England  in  Shake- 
speare's day,  cf.  Bacon's  essay,  Of  Usury. 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  169 

different  from  those  of  our  day,  seem  surprising. 
They  are,  however,  perfectly  explicable  by  the  fact 
that  in  ancient  and  mediaeval  times  money  was  not 
borrowed  to  use  in  legitimate  business,  but  only  to 
relieve  pressing  necessity.  This  being  the  case,  the 
borrower  was  at  the  mercy  of  the  lender.  As  a  re- 
sult, great  cruelty  was  practised.  The  money-lend- 
ers of  those  times  were  not  like  the  bankers  of  our 
day,  but  rather  like  the  pawnbrokers.  The  former, 
as  the  latter,  were  cruel.  They  personally  were  odi- 
ous, their  business  was  disreputable. 

In  the  light  of  this  exposition,  and  bearing  in 
mind  the  cardinal  fact  that  in  the  time  of  Antonio 
and  Shylock  the  only  interest  that  was  legitimate 
was  not  money  but  the  offspring  of  living  things, 
the  discussion  between  these  men  becomes  intelligi- 
ble^  Antonio  described  his  practice,  and  by  so  do- 
ing expressed  his  own  and  the  prevailing  sentiment, 
when  he  said  he  did 

.     .     .     neither  lend  nor  borrow 
By  taking  nor  by  giving  of  excess. 

In  order,  however,  to  aid  a  friend  he  will  depart  from 
his  custom  so  far  as  to  pay  interest  in  money  for  a 
loan.  Shylock,  intending  to  justify  his  demand  for 
usury,  opens  the  discussion: 

When  Jacob  grazed  his  uncle  Laban's  sheep — 
This  Jacob  from  our  holy  Abram  was, 
As  his  wise  mother  wrought  in  his  behalf, 
The  third  possessor;  ay,  he  was  the  third — 

Antonio.  And  what  of  him  ?     Did  he  take  interest  ? 

Shylock.   No,  not  take  interest,  not  as  you  would  say, 


i7°  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Directly  interest  :  mark  what  Jacob  did 

When  Laban  and  himself  were  compromised 

That  all  the  eanlings  which  were  streak'd  and  pied 

Should  fall  as  Jacob's  hire. 

This  was  a  way  to  thrive,  and  he  was  blest; 

And  thrift  is  blessing,  if  men  steal  it  not. 

Antonio.  This  was  a  venture,  sir,  that  Jacob  served  for; 
A  thing  not  in  his  power  to  bring  to  pass, 
But  sway'd  and  fashion'd  by  the  hand  of  heaven. 
Was  this  inserted  to  make  interest  good  ? 
Or  is  your  gold  and  silver  ewes  and  rams  ? 

Shylock.  I  cannot  tell;  I  make  it  breed  as  fast. 

The  discussion  on  interest  is  now  temporarily  dis- 
continued. Shylock's  resentment  overcomes  him. 
The  odious  and  insulting  treatment  which  he  has 
received  from  Antonio  is  recalled,  and,  with  bitter 
invective,  described  by  him  to  Antonio.  He  con- 
cludes by  inquiring  with  mock  humility: 

Shall  I  bend  low,  and  in  a  bondman's  key, 
With  bated  breath  and  whispering  humbleness, 
Say  this: 

"  Fair  sir,  you  spit  on  me  on  Wednesday  last; 
You  spurn'd  me  such  a  day;  another  time 
You  call'd  me  dog;  and  for  these  courtesies 
I  '11  lend  you  thus  much  moneys  "  ? 

Antonio  retorts: 

I  am  as  like  to  call  thee  so  again, 

To  spit  on  thee  again,  to  spurn  thee  too. 

If  thou  wilt  lend  this  money,  lend  it  not 

As  to  thy  friends;  for  when  did  friendship  take 

A  breed  of  barren  metal  of  his  friend  ? 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  171 

But  lend  it  rather  to  thine  enemy, 

Who  if  he  break,  thou  mayst  with  better  face 

Exact  the  penalty. 

Shylock  now  craftily  dissembles  both  his  opinion  on 
the  subject  of  interest  and  his  sentiment  toward 
Antonio.  He  offers  to  loan  the  money  without 
usury,  and  from  the  sole  motive  of  friendship: 

I  would  be  friends  with  you  and  have  your  love, 
Forget  the  shames  that  you  have  stain'd  me  with, 
Supply  your  present  wants  and  take  no  doit 
Of  usance  for  my  moneys,  and  you  '11  not  hear  me: 
This  is  kind  I  offer. 

This  expression  of  kindliness  is  reiterated  by  Shy- 
lock: 

I  say, 

To  buy  his  favour,  I  extend  this  friendship: 

If  he  will  take  it,  so;  if  not,  adieu; 

And,  for  my  love,  I  pray  you  wrong  me  not. 

The  effect  is  exactly  what  he  purposed.  Both 
Bassanio  and  Antonio  consider  the  offer  as  kindness. 
Both  are  deceived.  Shylock,  like  Gloucester,  is 
kind  as  snoiu  in  harvest. 

He  now  feigns  to  accept  Antonio's  opinion  that 
the  only  legitimate  interest  is  the  offspring  of  living 
creatures.  He  changes  his  manner.  Hitherto  seri- 
ous, earnest,  he  now  assumes  a  merry  mood.  In  a 
merry  sport  he  proposes  this  merry  bond,  the  forfeit 
for  the  non-payment  of  which  is  not  money,  since 
friendship  does  not  take 

A  breed  of  barren  metal  of  his  friend, 


172  Shakespeare's  Plots 

but  flesh.  Antonio  is  entrapped.  Without  a  mo- 
ment's delay  or  a  single  misgiving  he  accepts 
Shylock's  offer.  He  signs  the  bond.  From  that 
moment  his  fortune  declines;  one  argosy  after  an- 
other is  lost;  the  loan  becomes  due:  the  penalty  is 
forfeit. 

Thus,  so  workmanly,  by  this  discussion  on  in- 
terest, has  Shakespeare  prepared,  first,  Antonio  and 
Bassanio,  and,  later,  the  spectators  of  this  drama, 
for  the  bond.  Upon  it  the  tragic  in  this  play  is 
founded. 

Plot  in  a  drama  is  similar  to  design  in  a  fabric. 
The  weaver  takes  various  colored  threads,  and,  by 
artistic  skill,  weaves  them  into  a  beautiful  pattern. 
In  order  to  study  this  pattern  aesthetically,  it  is  ne- 
cessary to  trace  each  separate  thread,    to  note  its 
connection  with  each  of  the  others  and  with  all  the 
others,  with  the  pattern  as  a  whole.     To  apply  the 
simile  to  the  drama,  Shakespeare  says:    The  zveb  of 
our  life  is  of  a  mingled  yarn,  good  and  ill  together. 
It  is  this  life  with  its  mingled  yarn,  good  and  ill  to- 
gether, its  deeds  and  words,  hidden  thoughts  and 
emotions,  which  forms   the  subject  of  the  drama. 
Portrayal  of  these  in  an  artistic  manner,  by  means 
of  design  or  Plot,  is  the  function  of  the  dramatist. 
To  study  a  play  from  the  standpoint  of  construction 
it  is  necessary  to  trace  this  design;  to  perceive  the 
connection  of  the  different  incidents,  speeches,  char- 
acters, with  each  other,  and  with  the  play  as  an  or- 
ganic whole.     By  this  method,  and  only  this,  can 
we  discern  the  connection  and  harmony  of  parts. 
Pursuing  this  method  in  the  study  of  this  play,  we 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  173 

found  that  the  first  Scene  of  the  Growth  (I.,  3)  was 
in  close  connection  with  the  first  Scene  of  the  Intro- 
duction (I.,  1).  The  same  is  true  of  the  second 
Scenes  in  these  divisions  of  the  play.  When  the 
serving-man  announced  to  Portia  the  arrival  of  a 
forerunner  from  the  Prince  of  Morocco,  who  brings 
word  the  prince  his  master  will  be  here  to-night,  she 
says :  If  he  have  the  condition  of  a  saint,  a  fid  the  com- 
plexion of  a  devil,  I  had  rather  he  should  shrive  me 
than  wive  me.  The  first  words  uttered  by  the  Prince 
of  Morocco  (II.,  1)  are  so  apt,  are  such  a  perfect  re- 
ply to  those  of  Portia,  that  one  could  easily  imagine 
the  Prince  had  heard  Portia: 

Mislike  me  not  for  my.  complexion, 
The  shadow'd  livery  of  the  burnish'd  sun, 
To  whom  I  am  a  neighbour  and  near  bred:  seq. 

Thus  subtle  and  vital  is  the  connection  between 
these  two  Scenes. 

By  the  words  of  Portia,  and  later  by  those  of 
Morocco,  on  the  subject  of  complexion,  Shakespeare 
accomplishes  still  another  dramatic  purpose,  viz., 
foreshadowing.  Portia's  reflection  is  ominous  and 
forebodes  failure  for  this  suitor.  Morocco  seems  to 
have  a  presentiment  thereof.  As  the  sequel  proves, 
he  is  correct.  He  failed  to  select  the  casket  con- 
taining Portia's  likeness.  When  he  makes  his  exit, 
Portia  says : 

A  gentle  riddance.     Draw  the  curtain's,  go. 
Let  all  of  his  complexion  choose  me  so. 

Thus  these  references  to  complexion  are  not  mere 


174  Shakespeare's  Plots 

verbal  niceties.  They  are  not  accidental,  but  inten- 
tional. They  are  extremely  expressive  and  sugges- 
tive. By  means  of  them,  Shakespeare  dexterously 
brings  into  living  union  different  Scenes  of  the  play, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  foreshadows  the  fate  of  this 
suitor. 

Portia's  reply  to  Morocco,  like  herself,  is  gracious 
and  kindly.  She  informs  him  of  her  father's  will, 
and  then  does  for  him  what  Mephistopheles  requests 
the  Spirits  to  do  for  Faust: 

With  fairest  images  of  dreams  infold  him, 
Plunge  him  in  seas  of  sweet  untruth!  ' 

Morocco  refers  to  his  deeds,  his  desert  as  the  result 
of  them,  and  the  uncertainty  attending  the  choice 
of  the  caskets.     Portia  informs  him  he  must 

.     .     .     swear,  before  you  choose,  if  you  choose  wrong 
Never  to  speak  to  lady  afterward 
In  way  of  marriage. 

The  first  Scene  of  the  Growth  had  ended  with  the 
promise  of  Antonio  to  meet  Shylock  at  the  notary's, 
and  sign  the  bond.  The  second  Scene  of  the  Growth 
concludes  with  Portia's  direction  to  the  Prince: 

First,  forward  to  the  temple:  after  dinner 
Your  hazard  shall  be  made. 

In  these  two  opening  Scenes  of  the  Growth  there 
have  been  both  continuity  and  progress.  The  former 
does  not  of  necessity  include  the  latter.    The  former 

1  Faust,  The  First  Part,  Scene  III. 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  175 

may  be  but  an  eddy,  the  latter  is  the  main  current 
of  a  stream.  The  eddy  moves,  moves  in  the  form 
of  a  circle.  It  makes  no  advance.  The  main  cur- 
rent of  a  stream  moves  forward,  advances,  pro- 
gresses. Likewise,  in  a  drama  there  may  be 
continuity,  which  is  the  giving  of  details,  the  expo- 
sition of  the  subject,  without  any  progress.  There 
is  dramatic  progress  only  when  continuity  is  accom- 
panied by  an  increment;  when  the  details  are  re- 
lated to  and  are  the  expression  of  development, 
unfolding  of  Plot;  when  the  action  moves  forward 
to  the  Catastrophe.  In  the  first  two  Scenes  of  the 
Growth  of  this  play  there  have  been  both  continuity 
and  progress.  In  them  the  action  has  moved  for- 
ward toward  the  Climax  and  Catastrophe. 

One  danger  which  threatens  the  dramatist  in  con- 
structing the  Growth  of  a  play  is  too  rapid  progress 
of  the  Main  Action.  This  is  averted  by  the  em- 
ployment of  Episodes  or  Subsidiary  Actions. 
Shakespeare  here  uses  both.  The  next  Scene  (II., 
2)  is  an  Episode.  The  action  temporarily  ceases  to 
progress.  Launcelot,  in  a  leisurely  way,  solilo- 
quizes. Although  he  is  apparently  superficial  and 
trifling,  what  he  says  is  wise  and  serious.  It  de- 
scribes the  conflict,  as  old  as  man,  between  good 
and  evil  in  the  human  heart.  It  recalls  Plato's 
myth  of  the  Phaedrus,  in  which  man  is  compared 
to  a  charioteer  driving  two  horses,  one  high-spirited, 
aspiring,  the  other  earthward,  grovelling. 

Old  Gobbo  enters.  Between  him  and  Launcelot 
a  long  and,  on  the  part  of  the  latter,  a  bantering 
conversation  takes  place.     It  is  in  a  similar  vein  to 


176  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Launcelot's  soliloquy,  and  is  introduced  by  Shake- 
speare with  the  same  intent,  viz,%  retardation. 
Meanwhile  the  action  is  stopped. 

While  this  is  the  primary,  it  is  not  the  only,  ob- 
ject of  this  Scene.  In  it  Shakespeare,  as  a  relief  to 
the  feelings,  introduces  t*>e  comic.  In  nothing  does 
Shakespeare  reveal  his  genius  more  than  in  the 
fusion  of  the  tragic  and  the  comic  in  the  same  play.' 
In  this  he  is  among  dramatists  almost  unique.  In 
dramatic  literature  there  are  great  tragedies  in 
which  there  is  no  humor.  On  the  other  hand,  there 
are  comedies  of  a  high  order  from  which  is  entirely 
excluded  the  serious,  the  sad,  the  tragic.  Shake- 
speare perceived  that  this  distinction  was  neither 
real  nor  artistic.  The  smile  on  the  lip  is  as  natural 
as  the  tear  in  the  eye.  The  laugh,  like  the  sob,  is 
a  normal  expression  of  human  feeling.  The  ludi- 
crous is  the  natural  antithesis  of  the  serious.  Shake- 
speare is  true  to  this  phase  of  human  nature.  On 
the  boards  of  his  theatre  fools  elbow  philosophers; 
clowns  stand  side  by  side  with  kings  and  heroes. 
In  his  writings,  and  nowhere  more  than  in  this  play, 
the  humorous  and  the  serious,  the  comic  and  the 
tragic,  are  mingled;  more,  they  are  fused. 

This  Scene  also,  by  its  contrast  to  the  two  previ- 
ous ones,  manifests  Variety.  The  primary  quality 
of  a  work  of  Art  is  Unity.  As  upper  implies  lower, 
larger  smaller,  so  Unity  implies  Variety.  This  we 
find  in  Nature.  In  the  landscape  there  are  hill  and 
dale,   mountain   ™d  valley;    there  are   bright  and 

1  Cf.  my  Introduction  to  I.  Ihnry  IV.,  Bankside  edition,  vol. 
xii.,  p.  2. 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  177 

dark  colors,  sunshine  and  shadow;  there  are  loud 
and  soft,  harsh  and  melodious  sounds.  The  Growth 
of  this  drama  is  true  to  Nature  in  that  it  possesses 
Variety.  In  the  first  Scene  (I.,  3)  is  the  interview 
between  Bassanio,  Shylock,  Antonio.  It  is  dark, 
foreboding,  tragic.  The  second  (II.,  1)  is  neither 
tragic  nor  comic  but  serious.  The  fates  of  two  per- 
sons, Portia  and  the  Prince  of  Morocco,  are  to  be 
decided.  In  the  next  (II.,  2)  we  have  the  comic. 
Thus  this  division  of  the  drama  possesses  Variety, 
which  is  as  requisite  an  essential  of  a  great  work  of 
Art  as  Unity.  In  fact,  the  two  are,  and  of  neces- 
sity must  be,  coexistent.  "  The  essence  of  har- 
mony," says  Todhunter,  "is  that  it  unites  dissimilar 
elements,  so  that  by  the  very  clashing  of  their  na- 
tures they  enhance  each  other's  perfection.  Beauty 
is,  in  fact,  the  reconciliation  of  contradictions,  a 
Hegelian  identity  of  opposites."  ' 

Still  anothor  dramatic  purpose  subserved  by  this 
Scene  is  the  introduction  of  Launcelot  as  a  Link- 
Person.  By  means  of  him  the  Jew  and  the  Chris- 
tian sides  of  the  drama,  which  had  first  been  brought 
together  by  the  meeting  of  Bassanio  and  Shylock, 
are  drawn  still  closer.  Launcelot  had  been  the  ser- 
vant of  Shylock.  While  he  and  Old  Gobbo  are 
engaged  in  a  conversation,  in  which  the  former  ex- 
presses his  discontent  with  Shylock,  Bassanio  enters. 
He  is  giving  directions  to  Leonardo  as  to  his  depar- 
ture for  Belmont.  Launcelot  and  Old  Gobbo  make 
their  request  to  Bassanio.  In  each  case  the  lan- 
guage used  is  the  natural  outgrowth  of  the  mind  of 

1  The  Philosophy  of  the  Beautiful,  Tart  I.,  p.  243. 


178  Shakespeare's  Plots 

the  speaker.  That  of  Launcelot  expresses  a  lack 
of  coherence,  sequence.  It  manifests  the  untrained 
mind.  Old  Gobbo  misuses  words.  He  is  both 
inconsequent  and  senile.  Finally,  in  answer  to 
Bassanio's  question,  What  would  you  ?  Launcelot 
replies,  Serve  you,  sir.     Bassanio  grants  the  request: 

I  know  thee  well;  thou  hast  obtain'd  thy  suit: 
Shyloek  thy  master  spoke  with  me  this  day, 
And  hath  preferr'd  thee,  if  it  be  preferment 
To  leave  a  rich  Jew's  service,  to  become 
The  follower  of  so  poor  a  gentleman. 

Launcelot  leaves  the  service  of  Shyloek,  enters  that 
of  Bassanio.  This  is  the  only  action  in  this  Scene. 
It  is  a  Link-Action.  This  is  Launcelot's  special 
function  in  the  play.  Here,  and  every  time  he  ap- 
pears hereafter,  he  acts  as  a  connecting  link  between 
different  persons  or  different  actions.  He  is  a  Link- 
Person. 

After  the  exit  of  Launcelot  and  Old  Gobbo,  Bas- 
sanio urges  Leonardo  to  complete  arrangements  for 
the  voyage  to  Belmont: 

I  pray  thee,  good  Leonardo,  think  on  this: 
These  things  being  bought  and  orderly  bestow'd, 
Return  in  haste,  for  I  do  feast  to-night 
My  best-esteem' d  acquaintance:  hie  thee,  go. 

Gratiano  enters.      He  says  to  Bassanio: 

I  must  go  with  you  to  Belmont. 

Bassanio  demurs.  He  makes  a  subtle  but  keen  an- 
alysis of  Gratiano's  character  and  conduct.  At 
length,  on  Gratiano's  promise  to 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  1 79 

.     .     .     put  on  a  sober  habit, 
Talk  with  respect  and  swear  but  now  and  then, 
Wear  prayer-books  in  my  pocket,  look  demurely, 

and  to  mend  his  conduct  in  various  other  respects, 
Bassanio  withdraws  his  objection.  Bassanio  goes  to 
woo  Portia.  Gratiano  ostensibly  goes  as  his  com- 
panion. As  the  sequel  proves,  really  though  unin- 
tentionally, he  also  goes  wooing.  The  voyage,  like 
Orlando's  wrestling,  had  a  twofold  result.  The 
latter  tripped  up  the  wrestler 's  heels,  and  Rosalind's 
heart  both  in  an  instant.  Likewise,  when  Bassanio 
won  Portia  for  himself,  he  also,  unbeknown  to  him- 
self, won  Nerissa  for  Gratiano.     As  Gratiano  said: 

You  saw  the  mistress,  1  beheld  the  maid; 
You  lov'd,  I  lov'd,  for  intermission 
No  more  pertains  to  me,  my  lord,  than  you. 
Your  fortune  stood  upon  the  casket  there. 
And  so  did  mine,  too,  as  the  matter  falls;  seq. 

Thus  the  fates  of  these  two  men  were  linked  to- 
gether much  more  closely  than  either  suspected. 

The  remaining  part  of  the  Growth  of  this  play,  so 
much  as  is  contained  in  Act  II.,  Scenes  3  to  6  inclu- 
sive, is  devoted  almost  entirely  to  portraying  the 
elopement  of  Jessica  and  Lorenzo.  These  two 
characters  are  created  by  Shakespeare.  There  is 
no  prototype  of  them  in  the  stories  which  he  used 
in  the  composition  of  this  play.  They,  and  the  part 
they  play  in  the  drama,  throw  great  light  on  Shake- 
speare's constructive  methods. 

In  this  division  of  a  drama,  as  previously  stated, 


180  Shakespeare's  Plots 

the  progress  of  the  Main  Action  must  be  slow,  grad- 
ual. The  interest  of  the  spectator  must  not  be  too 
suddenly  or  too  intensely  excited.  It  must  be  first 
aroused,  afterward  heightened.  Hence,  the  drama- 
tist must  follow  the  example  of  Prospero  in  deal- 
ing with  the  love  affair  of  Ferdinand  and  Miranda: 

this  swift  business 
I  must  uneasy  make,  lest  too  light  winning 
Make  the  prize  light. 

Prospero  then  proceeds  to  provoke  a  quarrel  with 
Ferdinand,  the  effect  of  which  is  twofold:  it  retards 
the  progress  of  the  wooing,  and  also  that  of  the  ac- 
tion of  the  drama.     In  the  play  under  consideration, 
Shakespeare  accomplishes  the  same  purpose,  first,  by 
the  introduction  of  the   Episode  (II.,  2)  devoted  to 
Launcelot  and  Old  Gobbo,  and,  later,  by  a  Sub- 
Action,    the   elopement    of    Lorenzo   and    Jessica. 
While  this  Sub-Action  is  in  progress,  the  Main  Ac- 
tion ceases  movement.     In  these  Scenes  (II.,  3  to  6 
inclusive)   there   is   no   reference  to   Bassanio   and 
Portia.     On  the  conclusion  of  the  Sub-Action,  the 
Main  Action  resumes  movement  (II.,  7),  and  pro- 
gresses swiftly  till  the  Climax  of  the  play  has  been 
reached  and  passed. 

By  the  elopement  of  Lorenzo  and  Jessica,  Shake- 
speare also  overcomes  a  mechanical  difficulty,  viz., 
the  time,  three  motiths,  intervening  between  the 
signing  and  the  forfeit  of  Antonio's  bond.  Shake- 
speare was  versatile.  To  meet  and  conquer  a  diffi- 
culty of  this  nature  he  sometimes  introduced  a 
Prologue.       In    Henry    V.    there   are,    during    the 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  181 

movement  of  the  Action,  frequent  intervals  of  time. 
In  order  to  bridge  them  he  introduces  before  each 
of  the  five  divisions  of  the  play  a  Prologue,  thereby 

Jumping  o'er  times, 
Turning  the  accomplishment  of  many  years 
Into  an  hour-glass. 

In  this  play  he  conquers  a  similar  difficulty,  viz., 
the  length  of  time  the  bond  runs,  by  this  elopement 
of  Jessica  and  Lorenzo. 

Still  another  dramatic  function  performed  by 
these  two  characters  is  that  of  a  Link-Action. 
Jessica  leaves  her  father  for  her  husband.  She  re- 
tires from  the  Jew  side  of  the  drama,  and  links  her 
fate  with  that  of  the  Christian.  In  so  doing,  she 
becomes  a  connecting  link,  binding  together  more 
closely  the  different  actors  and  different  actions  por- 
trayed in  the  drama.  She  and  Lorenzo  leave  Venice. 
We  hear  of  them  and  their  doings  in  Genoa.  They 
next  appear  at  Belmont,  after  Bassanio  has  won 
Portia.  They  form  part  of  the  group,  composed  of 
three  pairs  of  lovers,  standing  around  the  caskets. 
One  function  they  perform  in  the  drama  is  that  of  a 
Link-Action. 

Jessica  performs  still  another  dramatic  function. 
She  was  motherless.  She  was  homeless.  She  said 
to  Launcelot:  Our  house  is  hell.  She  had  no  com- 
panions but  Launcelot  and  Shylock.  Her  father's 
treatment  of  her  was  most  unpaternal.  To  manifest 
this  was  one,  if  not  the  principal,  object  of  Act  II., 
Scene  5.  Shylock  addresses  her  as  if  she  were  an 
alien  and  a  slave.     No  wonder,  then,  she  says: 


182  Shakespeare's  Plots' 

Alack,  what  heinous  sin  is  it  in  me 
To  be  ashamed  to  be  my  father's  child! 
But  though  I  am  a  daughter  to  his  blood, 
I  am  not  to  his  manners. 

Such  feeling  was  the  natural  fruit  of  the  treatment 
she  received  from  her  father.  As  to  character,  she 
was  childish.  In  Genoa  she  exchanged  a  valuable 
ring  for  a  valueless  monkey.  She  was  also  childlike. 
This  is  very  different  from  childishness.  The  former 
means  guileless,  innocent,  true,  lovable.  She  was 
a  most  beautiful  pagan,  most  sweet  Jew.  She  evoked 
Lorenzo's  love: 

Beshrew  me  but  I  love  her  heartily; 
For  she  is  wise,  if  I  can  judge  of  her; 
And  fair  she  is,  if  that  mine  eyes  be  true, 
And  true  she  is,  as  she  hath  proved  herself, 
And  therefore,  like  herself,  wise,  fair  and  true, 
Shall  she  be  placed  in  my  constant  soul. 

To  realize  the  full  force  of  Lorenzo's  words,  one 
must  remember  that  Jessica  was  a  Jewess.  More, 
she  was  the  daughter  of  such  a  Jew  as  Shylock. 
Her  loveliness,  therefore,  must  have  been  extraordi- 
nary to  overcome  the  antipathy  which  in  Venice,  at 
the  date  of  this  play,  Christians  felt  toward  Jews. 

Shakespeare's  portrayal  of  her  and  her  elopement 
is,  therefore,  perfectly  true  to  nature.  Her  conduct 
is  in  strict  accord  with  a  great  biologic  law,  that  of 
self-preservation.  Everything  living  which  is  placed 
in  an  environment  that  is  unfavorable  to  its  exist- 
ence strives  to  reach  a  more  favorable  one.  A  deli- 
cate plant  in  a  dark  cave  struggles  toward  the  ray  of 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  183 

light  which  shines  through  a  fissure  of  the  rock.  The 
frail  flower  planted  in  earth  not  favorable  sends  its 
roots  down  deeper  and  deeper  seeking  moisture  and 
nourishment.  Birds  leave  an  unfavorable  for  a 
favorable  habitat.  So  this  motherless  girl  instinc- 
tively feels  her  affectional  nature  would  die  in  that 
atmosphere  which  was  loveless,  in  that  house  which 
was  hell,  and  she  as  instinctively  seeks  an  environ- 
ment which  will  preserve  and  develop  that  affec- 
tional nature.  Under  these  circumstances,  was  she 
unfilial  in  leaving  that  house  and  that  father  ?  Is 
not  Shakespeare's  portrayal  of  her  true  to  nature  ? 

I  have  analyzed  this  character  briefly,  not  for  the 
purpose  of  giving  a  character-sketch,  but  in  order  to 
make  evident  still  another  important  function 
Shakespeare  intended  Jessica  to  perform,  viz., 
Dramatic  Hedging.  As  the  play  progresses  Shy- 
lock  more  and  more  manifests  his  character  as  brutal 
and  repulsive.  No  man  ever  uttered  words  more 
unpaternal,  more  inhuman  than  Shylock,  when  he 
said : 

I  would  my  daughter  were  dead  at  my  foot,  and  the 
jewels  in  her  ear!  would  she  were  hearsed  at  my  foot, 
and  the  ducats  in  her  coffin! 

If  Shakespeare  had  put  these  words  into  Shy- 
lock's  mouth,  without,  at  the  same  time,  surround- 
ing him  with  extenuating  circumstances,  he  would 
have  made  the  fatal  dramatic  error  of  creating  not  a 
man,  but  a  monster.  Shylock  would  thereby  have 
been  placed  beyond  the  pale  of  human  sympathy. 


184  Shakespeare's  Plots 

The  spectators  would  lose  all  interest  in  him.  Mar- 
lowe makes  this  mistake  in  the  character  of  Barabas 
in  The  Jew  of  Malta.  Such  character  portraiture 
is  inartistic.  It  is  fatal  to  a  drama.  Shakespeare 
avoids  this,  not  by  ameliorating  or  modifying  or  al- 
tering the  character  of  Shylock.  He  develops  that 
normally.  He  accomplished  his  purpose  by  Dra- 
matic Hedging.  This  is  effected  by  introducing  this 
Sub-Action  of  the  elopement.  Much  as  we  admire 
Jessica,  and  think  she  was  justified  in  her  conduct, 
yet  she  was  Shylock's  daughter.  When  she  leaves 
his  house  and  himself,  we  feel  some  sympathy  for 
that  father,  forsaken,  suffering,  who  says,  referring 
to  this  elopement: 

No  ill  luck  stirring  but  what  lights  on  my  shoulders; 
no  sighs  but  of  my  breathing;  no  tears  but  of  my  shed- 
ding. 

Shylock  was  not  a  fiend,  but  a  man.  Thus  Shake- 
speare uses  this  elopement  as  the  means  by  which 
he  effects  one  primary  object  of  the  drama,  viz.,  to 
evoke  the  sympathy,  the  pity  of  the  spectators. 

At  the  close  of  Scene  6  Jessica  enters.  Lorenzo 
says : 

What,  art  thou  come  ?     On,  gentlemen;  away! 
Our  masquing  mates  by  this  time  for  us  stay. 

They  depart.     The  elopement  is  consummated. 

Antonio  now  appears.  He  meets  Gratiano  and 
says: 

Fie,  fie,  Gratiano!  where  are  all  the  rest  ? 

'T  is  nine  o'clock:  our  friends  all  stay  for  you. 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  185 

No  masque  to-night:   the  wind  is  come  about; 

Bassanio  presently  will  go  aboard: 

I  have  sent  twenty  out  to  seek  for  you. 

Gratiano  replies: 

I  am  glad  on  't:  I  desire  no  more  delight 
Than  to  be  under  sail  and  gone  to-night. 

With  the  departure  of  Lorenzo  and  Jessica  the 
Growth  of  the  play  ends.  When  Bassanio  and 
Gratiano  sail  for  Belmont  the  Climax  begins. 

CLIMAX 
II.,  7-III.,  2 

The  Main  Action  of  this  play  is  the  love  affair  of 
Bassanio  and  Portia.  Bassanio's  love  for  Portia  and 
his  wooing  of  her  is  the  Complicating  Force.  Flow- 
ing  from  this  is  the  loan  made  by  Shylock  and  the 
bond  signed  by  Antonio.  While  this  is  very  im- 
portant, it  is  but  a  Sub-Action,  an  under-plot.  If 
Bassanio  had  not  been  in  love,  and  had  not  needed 
money  to  push  his  suit,  the  loan  of  three  thousand 
ducats  would  not  have  been  made.  Hence,  the 
Main  or  Exciting  Action  is  Bassanio's  wooing  of 
Portia.  Bassanio,  therefore,  is  the  Complicating 
Force.  Portia  is  the  Resolving  Force.  By  means  of 
her  the  complication  caused  by  the  bond  is  solved. 
The  meeting-point  of  these  two  forces  is  the  Climax 
of  the  drama. 

From  the  beginning  of  the  Climax  (II.,  7),  every- 
thing in   the  play  converges  to  the  casket  which 


1 86  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Bassanio  chooses  (III.,  2).  Here  Bassanio  and 
Portia  for  the  first  time  in  the  drama  meet.  This 
marks  the  end  of  the  beginning,  the  beginning  of 
the  end.  Previous  to  this,  everything  has  tended 
to  the  desis,  tying  of  the  knot ;  subsequent  thereto, 
everything  conduces  to  the  lusis,  or  untying.  Bas- 
sanio is  the  main  actor  in  the  former,  Portia  in  the 
latter.  Bassanio's  choice  of  the  casket,  which  won 
for  him  Portia,  was  no  sooner  made  than  he  received 
Antonio's  letter,  announcing  his  dangerous  position. 
Portia  claims  her  right  to  know  the  contents: 

With  leave,  Bassanio;  I  am  half  yourself, 
And  I  must  freely  have  the  half  of  anything 
That  this  same  paper  brings  you. 

Bassanio  informs  her.  Thereupon  she  immediately 
inquires; 

Is  it  your  dear  friend  that  is  thus  in  trouble  ? 

And,  later, 

What  sum  owes  he  the  Jew  ? 

With  womanly  insight,  she  recognizes  the  situation. 
With  womanly  tact,  she  suggests  means  to  avert 
the  danger.  She  delays  action  for  one  purpose 
only: 

First  go  with  me  to  church  and  call  me  wife, 
And  then  away  to  Venice  to  your  friend. 

After   that   has  been  done,   she   inaugurates   that 
course  of  action  which  ultimately  saves  Antonio. 
At  the  same  time  and  place  the  principal  Sub- 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  187 

Action,  that  of  the  loan  and  bond,  reaches  its 
climax.  Almost  from  the  moment  Antonio  signed 
the  bond,  his  fortunes  have  been  declining.  One 
argosy  after  another  is  lost,  until,  as  he  wiites  Bas- 
sanio,  my  estate  is  very  low.  All  the  while  Shylock 
remains  steadfast  and  unwavering  in  his  resolve: 

If  I  can  catch  him  once  upon  the  hip, 

I  will  feed  fat  the  ancient  grudge  I  bear  him. 

That  opportunity  has  now  come.     Antonio's  bond 
to  the  Jew  is  forfeit. 

.  Gratiano's  fortune  stood  upon  the  same  casket  as 
did  Bassanio's.  When  the  latter  won  Portia  for 
himself,  he  also  won  Nerissa  for  Gratiano.  Thus 
the  love  affair  of  Gratiano  and  Nerissa,  constituting 
another  of  the  Sub-Actions,  reaches  its  climax  at 
the  same  time  as  that  of  Bassanio  and  Portia.  To 
this  group  are  now  added  Lorenzo  and  Jessica, 
whose  experiences  constitute  another  Sub-Action. 

Thus,  the  Casket  Scene  (III.,  2)  is  the  Climax  of 
the  drama.  It  is  the  meeting-point  of  all  the  Com- 
plicating and  all  the  Resolving  Forces. 

Shakespeare's  practice  is  usually  to  put  the 
Climax  in  the  exact  Mechanical  Centre  of  a  play. 
The  Merchant  of  Venice  is  no  exception.  It  is  not 
so  as  the  play  is  published  in  Folio  I.  When  the 
play  is  divided  into  Acts  according  to  the  laws  of 
dramatic  construction,  as  I  have  divided  it  for  the 
purposes  of  this  study,  Act  III.  and  the  Climax  are 
coterminous.  Accepting  the  Bankside  numeration, 
the  play  contains  2732  verses.  The  centre  verse 
would  be  1366.     The  middle  verse  of  the  Climax, 


1 88  Shakespeare's  Plots 

as  I  have  defined  it,  is  1324.  It  is  evident  from 
this  that  the  centre  of  Climax  is  almost  the  exact 
Mechanical  Centre  of  the  play.  It  is  the  central 
point,  the  point  to  which  all  the  factors  in  the  fore 
part  of  the  play  converge,  and  from  which  all  the 
factors  in  the  after  part  of  the  play  diverge. 

Analyzing  the  Climax,  we  find  that  it  is  composed 
of  five  Scenes.  Of  these,  three  relate  to  the  caskets. 
The  other  two  (II.,  8,  and  III.,  1)  are  Episodes.  I 
shall  consider  the  last  two  first. 

Of  these,  II.,  8,  consists, of  a  conversation  be- 
tween Salarino  and  Salanio.  It  begins  with  a  refer- 
ence to  the  elopement  of  Jessica,  and  its  effect  on 
Shylock,  which  is  thus  described  by  Salanio: 

I  never  heard  a  passion  so  confused, 
So  strange,  outrageous,  and  so  variable, 
As  the  dog  Jew  did  utter  in  the  streets:  seq. 

Salarino  then  reports  a  rumor  of  the  loss  of  a  ship. 
Both  Salanio  and  Salarino  think  of  Antonio.  The 
Scene  closes  with  a  description  of  the  parting  be- 
tween Antonio  and  Bassanio,  and  of  the  love  of  the 
former  for  the  latter. 

While  nothing  has  been  done  in  this  Scene,  there 
has  been  dramatic  progress.  Shylock's  lodg'dhate 
is  intensifying.  A  new  revelation  has  been  given  of 
Antonio's  love  for  Bassanio.  In  both  these  effects 
the  poet  manifests  fine  foreshadowing. 

The  other  episodic  Scene  of  the  Climax  (III.,  1) 
is  a  direct  continuation  of  the  one  just  analyzed. 
The  rumor  of  the  loss  of  a  ship,  of  which  Salarino 
informed  us  (II.,  8),  is  now  confirmed.     Nay,  more, 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  189 

it  is  made  more  definite.  This  ship  is  Antonio's. 
His  fortunes  are  sinking.  At  the  same  time,  Shy- 
lock's  hate  is  intensifying. 

Shakespeare  now  gives  another  masterly  example 
of  Dramatic  Hedging.  The  character  of  Shylock  is 
becoming  repulsive.  In  order  to  prevent  the  sym- 
pathy of  the  spectator  from  being  alienated,  Shake- 
speare makes  him,  in  a  brief  speech,  express  the 
thought  that  human  nature,  in  its  essential  traits,  is 
the  same  in  all  men : 

I  am  a  Jew.  Hath  not  a  Jew  eyes  ?  hath  not  a  Jew 
hands,  organs,  dimensions,  senses,  affections,  passions  ? 
fed  with  the  same  food,  hurt  with  the  same  weapons, 
subject  to  the  same  diseases,  healed  by  the  same  means, 
warmed  and  cooled  by  the  same  winter  and  summer,  as 
a  Christian  is  ?  If  you  prick  us,  do  we  not  bleed  ?  If 
you  tickle  us,  do  we  not  laugh  ?  If  you  poison  us,  do 
we  not  die  ? 

The  object  of  the  dramatist  is  accomplished  per- 
fectly. Even  to  this  day  these  words  touch  in  every 
mind  and  heart  a  chord  which  is  responsive,  sym- 
pathetic. And  they  always  will.  After  expressing 
these  sentiments,  Shylock  reveals  his  character  and 
his  purpose  in  the  inference  he  draws: 

If  a  Jew  wrong  a  Christian,  what  is  his  humility  ? 
Revenge.  If  a  Christian  wrong  a  Jew,  what  should  his 
sufferance  be  by  Christian  example  ?  Why,  revenge. 
The  villainy  you  teach  me,  I  will  execute,  and  it  shall 
go  hard  but  I  will  better  the  instruction. 

Logically,  ethically,  Shylock  is  incorrect.     Dramati- 
cally, the  speech  is  perfect.     It  is  a  master-stroke. 


190  Shakespeare's  Plots 

A  play  is  written  to  be  acted.     One  could  not 
accurately  and  intelligently  judge  a  musical  com- 
position from  reading  the  notes.     No  more  can  one 
form  an  accurate  and  intelligent  opinion  of  a  drama 
from  simply  reading  the  words.     It  is  necessary  to 
hear  the  musical  composition  played,   to  see  the 
drama  acted.     The  notes  of  the  former  must  be 
transformed   into  sounds,  the  words  of  the  latter 
into  actions.     In   forming  a  critical  opinion  of  a 
play,  therefore,  one  canon  is,  Is  it  successful  as  an 
acted    play  ?     The    expression    of    Shakespeare's 
genius  did  not  take  the  form  of  epic  or  lyric  poetry, 
but  of  dramatic.     A  drama  is  not  only  a  literary, 
but  also  a  histrionic  production.     In  order,  there- 
fore, to  study  a  drama  intelligently,  its  acting  quali- 
ties, its  adaptability  to  stage  representation,  must 
always   be   considered.     Judged  by  this  test,  this 
play  is  well-nigh  perfect.     One  of  the  finest  points 
in  it  is  this  speech  of   Shylock,    a   speech   which 
always   has,   and   always    will,   touch   a  responsive 
chord  in  every  human  breast,  because  it  appeals  to 
those   qualities  of  our  common    nature  which  are 
essential,  universal,  perennial,  which  Jew  and  Chris- 
tian have  in  common. 

Tubal  enters.  Immediately  Salanio  and  Salarino 
retire.  Shylock  and  Tubal  are  left  alone.  The 
latter  reports  that  his  efforts  to  find  Jessica,  with 
the  money  and  the  jewels,  have  been  unsuccessful. 
Shylock  is  wrought  up  to  a  frenzy.  He  is  com- 
pletely overcome  with  a  passion  which  is  almost 
fiendish.  Shakespeare's  description  is  a  perfect 
portrayal  of  complex  emotions.     The  Scene  is  suf 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  191 

fused  with  subtle  and  intense  feeling.  While  in 
some  respects  repulsive,  in  others  it  is  fascinating. 
A  profound  emotion  is  elemental.  It  is,  in  this 
respect,  like  water,  fire,  wind.  And  this  is  so, 
even  though  the  passion  be  perverted.  A  rushing 
torrent,  a  consuming  fire,  a  whirlwind,  even  though 
destructive,  are  awe-inspiring.  Likewise,  a  pro- 
found, overmastering  human  feeling,  even  though 
it  be  perverted,  is  sublime.  In  this  study  I  am 
considering  the  play  from  the  standpoint  of  Plot. 
I  cannot,  therefore,  do  more  than  refer  indirectly 
to  either  Character  or  Passion.  The  Scene  ends 
with  Shylock's  request  to  Tubal:  Go,  Tubal,  fee  me 
an  officer. 

Both  of  these  Scenes  (II.,  8,  and  III.,  i)  are,  as  I 
have  stated,  episodic.  The  action  of  the  drama 
temporarily  stops.  They  are  epic,  narrative.  In 
them  we  are  informed  of  what  has  transpired,  but 
nothing  is  done.  Both,  also,  relate  to  one  of  the 
Sub-Actions.  In  each  of  these  respects  they  differ 
from  the  other  three  Scenes  of  the  Climax,  which  I 
have  denominated  the  Casket  Scenes,  viz.,  II.,  7, 
II.,  9,  III.,  2.  In  them  there  is  movement,  the  ac- 
tion of  the  drama  rapidly  progresses  to  the  Climax. 
Also,  they  constitute  the  Main  Action. 

Shakespeare's  Plot,  so  far  as  it  makes  the  success 
of  Portia's  wooer  depend  on  the  selection  of  the 
casket  containing  her  picture,  has  been  criticised  as 
being  unreasonable,  unnatural,  and,  therefore,  in- 
artistic. Are  there  any  grounds  for  this  criticism  ? 
Shakespeare  has  based  this  part  of  his  drama  on 
"  The  Story  of  the  Choice  of  Three  Caskets."     A 


192  Shakespeare's  Plots 

comparison  of  the  story  and  the  drama  reveals  sev- 
eral differences.  In  the  story  a  woman  chooses  one 
of  three  caskets  to  win  thereby  a  husband.  Shake- 
speare changes  this.  He  makes  the  man  the 
chooser.  Further  there  was  but  one  woman  who 
chose;  in  the  play  there  are  three  men  who  do  so. 
Still  more,  Shakespeare  adds  numberless  suitors  to 
these  three.     Bassanio  informs  us: 

For  the  four  winds  blow  in  from  every  coast 
Renowned  suitors. 

The  Prince  of  Morocco  confirms  this: 

.     .     .     all  the  world  desires  her; 
From  the  four  corners  of  the  earth  they  come, 
To  kiss  this  shrine,  this  mortal  breathing  saint. 

In  thus  glorifying  Portia,  Shakespeare  gives  expr< 
sion  to  his  originative,  constructive  genius.  He 
thereby  makes  the  prize  to  be  won  bear  some  pro- 
portion to  the  risk  which  the  suitors  incur.  For 
that  risk  was  great.  Before  selecting  a  casket  each 
chooser  was  compelled  to  take  an  oath  never  to 
marry,  if  unsuccessful.  Further,  there  was  no  hint 
given  upon  which  to  make  a  choice,  except  the  in- 
scriptions on  the  caskets.  Upon  such  data  it  was 
impossible  with  any  certainty  to  base  a  decision. 
The  choosers  seem  to  have  been  fully  cognizant  of 
the  risk  they  incurred.  So  deeply  impressed  with 
it  were  the  Neapolitan  prince,  the  County  Palatine, 
the  French  lord,  Falconbridge,  the  Scottish  lord, 
the  Duke  of  Saxony's  nephew,  that  they  all  with 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  193 

one  consent  refused  to  venture  a  choice.     Morocco 
ventured,  but  praying, 

Some  god  direct  my  judgement  ! 

The  Prince  of  Arragon  called 

Fortune  now 
To  my  heart's  hope! 

The  inner  meaning  of  the  Casket  Scenes  will  be 
revealed  by  two  considerations: 

I.  It  is  a  mistake  to  base  judgment  on  appear* 
ances  only.     They  who  do  so  are 

.  .  .  the  fool  multitude,  that  choose  by  show, 
Not  learning  more  than  the  fond  eye  doth  teach; 
Which  pries  not  to  the  interior: 

and,  as  a  consequence,  are  led  into  error  and  dis- 
aster.    This  was  the  cause  of  Morocco's  failure. 

One  of  these  three  contains  her  heavenly  picture. 
Is  't  like  that  lead  contains  her  ?  seq. 

He  failed.     As  the  result  of  his  effort  he  learned, 

All  that  glisters  is  not  gold; 
Often  have  you  heard  that  told: 
Many  a  man  his  life  hath  sold 
But  my  outside  to  behold: 
Gilded  tombs  do  worms  infold. 

Arragon  rejected  the  leaden  casket: 

You  shall  look  fairer,  ere  I  give  or  hazard. 

«3 


194  Shakespeare's  Plots 

He  selected  the  silver  one.  He  found  not  Portia's 
likeness,  but  the  portrait  of  a  blinking  idiot,  and 
received  the  message : 

Some  there  be  that  shadows  kiss; 
Such  have  but  a  shadow's  bliss: 
There  be  fools  alive,  I  wis, 
Silver'd  o'er;  and  so  was  this. 

The  song  which  is  sung  while  Bassanio  is  deciding 
conveys  the  same  truth: 

Tell  me  where  is  fancy  (love)  bred, 
Or  in  the  heart  or  in  the  head  ? 

The  reply  is: 

It  is  engender'd  in  the  eyes, 
With  gazing  fed:  seq. 

If  it  does  not  penetrate  deeper  than  the  eyes,  viz., 
to  the  head,  to  the  heart;  if  it  does  not  stir  to  their 
profoundest  depths  the  emotions,  the  thoughts,  and 
fill  them  with  itself,  it  is  only  a  passing  sentiment. 
It  lives  only  in  the  eyes,  lasts  only  while  the  object 
is  in  sight,  is  with  gazing  fed.     The  result  is: 

.     .     .     and  fancy  dies 
In  the  cradle  where  it  lies. 

Bassanio  was  cognizant  of  this  truth.  Although  he 
did  not  comment  aloud,  giving  us  the  reasons  why 
he  chose,  we  know  from  the  scroll  in  the  leaden 
casket  what  were  the  considerations  that  influenced 
him : 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  195 

You  that  choose  not  by  the  view, 
Chance  as  fair  and  choose  as  true! 

This  is  the  truth  that  he  expresses  in  his  soliloquy: 

So  may  the  outward  shows  be  least  themselves: 
The  world  is  still  deceived  with  ornament. 

As  a  consequence,  he  chooses  the  leaden  casket: 

Therefore,  thou  gaudy  gold, 

Hard  food  for  Midas,  I  will  none  of  thee; 

Nor  none  of  thee,  thou  pale  and  common  drudge 

'Tween  man  and  man:  but  thou,  thou  meagre  lead, 

Which  rather  threatenest  than  dost  promise  aught, 

Thy  paleness  moves  me  more  than  eloquence; 

And  here  choose  I. 

II.  The  final  factor  which  decides  one's  choice  in 
important  matters  is  not  chance,  but  character.  I 
say  the  final  factor,  for  there  is  an  element  of  chance 
in  every  human  life. 

Fortune  brings  in  some  boats  that  are  not  steer'd. 

Character  is  not  alone  reason,  or  emotion,  but, 
rather,  is  the  resultant  of  all  the  forces,  both  inter- 
nal  and  external,  which  have  been  operating  on  a 
person  since  he  became  a  conscious  agent.  It  is 
this,  the  character,  the  personality,  the  totality  of 
one's  nature,  which  biases  and  directs  men  .in  the 
important  decisions  in  life.  It  was  this  which 
guided  Morocco,  Arragon,  Bassanio,  in  choosing  a 
casket.  Morocco  was  grasping,  ambitious.  He, 
therefore,  selected  the  golden  casket.     Arragon  had 


196  Shakespeare's  Plots 

an  overweening  sense  of  his  own  worth.  He  as- 
sumed desert.  He  selected  the  silver  casket.  Bas- 
sanio  does  not  inform  us  as  to  the  reasons  which 
guided  him.  He  comments  on  the  caskets  to  himself. 
Shakespeare,  however,  does  not  leave  us  without  a 
clue.     Portia  informs  us: 

Away,  then!  I  am  lock'd  in  one  of  them: 
If  you  do  love  me,  you  will  find  me  out. 

Further,  she  calls  for  music  while  Bassanio  is  making 
the  choice: 

Let  music  sound  while  he  doth  make  his  choice. 

Shakespeare  knew  that  "  Music  is  love  in  search  of 
a  word,"  and,  therefore,  while  this  lover  stands  be- 
fore the  caskets  a  song  is  sung,  the  subject  of  which 
is  love.  Portia  was  correct  in  making  love  the 
guide  for  the  lover: 

Sweet  friends, 

Man's  love  ascends, 

To  higher  and  diviner  ends, 

Than  man's  thought 

E'er  comprehends.1 

Bassanio,  the  lover,  successfully  selects  the  casket 
containing  Fair  Portia's  counterfeit. 

But  suppose,  says  the  critic,  that  Morocco  or 
Arragon  had  chosen  successfully,  or  Bassanio  had 
failed.*     Such  a  supposition  is  not  within  the  range 

1  Sidney  Lanier. 

*  "  If  all  the  drops  in  it  were  dried  up,  what  would  become  of  the 
sea  ?" — Vanity  Fair,  vol.  i.,  p.  307. 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  197 

of  dramatic  possibility.  From  the  very  beginning 
of  the  drama,  Shakespeare  has  indicated  Bassanio 
as  the  successful  chooser,  and  the  future  husband. 
Bassanio  himself  felt  sure  of  winning  Portia.  Ne- 
rissa  points  to  him  as  the  future  husband.  Portia 
endorses  this  opinion.  After  Morocco  and  Arragon 
have  failed  and  retired,  once  more  does  the  drama- 
tist point  to  Bassanio  as  the  lover  and  coming  hus- 
band. Immediately  on  the  departure  of  Arragon  a 
servant  enters  and  says  to  Portia: 

Madam,  there  is  alighted  at  your  gate 

A  young  Venetian,  one  that  comes  before 

To  signify  the  approaching  of  his  lord; 

From  whom  he  bringeth  sensible  regreets, 

To  wit,  besides  commends  and  courteous  breath, 

Gifts  of  rich  value.     Yet  I  have  not  seen 

So  likely  an  ambassador  of  love: 

A  day  in  April  never  came  so  sweet, 

To  show  how  costly  summer  was  at  hand, 

As  this  fore-spurrer  comes  before  his  lord. 

Portia  replies: 

Come,  come,  Nerissa;  for  I  long  to  see 
Quick  Cupid's  post  that  comes  so  mannerly. 

Nerissa  answers : 

Bassanio,  lord  Love,  if  thy  will  it  be! 

Once  more,  when  Bassanio  is  about  to  venture  a 
choice,  Portia  entreats  him  to 

,     .     .     pause  a  day  or  two  . 
Before  you  hazard; 


198  Shakespeare's  Plots 

and  then,  with  exquisite  banter,  she  reveals  her 
feelings: 

There  's  something  tells  me,  but  it  is  not  love, 
I  would  not  lose  you;  and  you  know  yourself, 
Hate  counsels  not  in  such  a  quality. 
But  lest  you  should  not  understand  me  well, — ; 
And  yet  a  maiden  hath  no  tongue  but  thought, — 
I  would  detain  you  here  some  month  or  two 
Before  you  venture  for  me. 

Although  Portia  thus  plainly  expresses  to  Bassanio 
her  affection  for  him,  he  could  not  misunderstand 
or  misjudge  her. 

Love  takes  the  meaning  in  love's  conference. 

Thus,  by  these  premonitory  suggestions,  scattered 
all  through  the  play,  Shakespeare  precludes  all 
doubt  as  to  Portia's  lover. 

These  unfavorable  criticisms  on  the  Casket  Scenes 
are  like  those  of  Hippolyta  on  the  acting  of  the 
Athenian  mechanicals: 

This  is  the  silliest  stuff  that  ever  I  heard. 

The  former  criticism,  like  the  latter,  is  caused  by  a 
lack  of  capacity  and  appreciation  in  the  critic.  And 
the  reply  to  both  is  that  of  Theseus  to  Hippolyta: 

The  best  in  this  kind  are  but  shadows;  and  the  worst 
are  no  worse,  if  imagination  amend  them.1 

1  "  Seek  not  to  detect  deficiencies  and  imperfections  in  works  of 
art  until  you  have  previously  learnt  to  recognize  and  discover 
beauties.  This  admonition  is  the  fruit  of  experience,  of  noticing 
daily  that  the  beautiful  has  remained  unknown  to  most  observers 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  199 

When  Bassanio  opens  the  leaden  casket  he  finds 
therein  Fair  Portia's  counterfeit.  He  then  proceeds 
to  describe  it.  This  description  is  a  perfect  speci- 
men of  the  poet's  art : 

What  demi-god 
Hath  come  so  near  creation  ?     Move  these  eyes  ? 
Or  whether,  riding  on  the  balls  of  mine, 
Seem  they  in  motion  ?     Here  are  sever'd  lips, 
Parted  with  sugar  breath :  so  sweet  a  bar 
Should  sunder  such  sweet  friends.     Here  in  her  hairs 
The  painter  plays  the  spider  and  hath  woven 
A  golden  mesh  to  entrap  the  hearts  of  men 
Faster  than  gnats  in  cobwebs:  but  her  eyes, — 
How  could  he  see  to  do  them  ?     Having  made  one, 
Methinks  it  should  have  power  to  steal  both  his 
And  leave  itself  unfurnish'd.     Yet  look,  how  far 
The  substance  of  my  praise  doth  wrong  this  shadow 
In  underprizing  it,  so  far  this  shadow 
Doth  limp  behind  the  substance. 

Shakespeare  here  refers  to  Portia's  eyes,  lips,  hair. 
And  yet  not,  in  the  case  of  any  of  these  features, 
docs  he  describe  it  as  it  appears  to  the  eye  of  the 
beholder.  He  does  not  inform  us  as  to  the  color  or 
shape  of  the  eyes  or  lips.  He  does  not  tell  us 
whether  the  hair  is  light  or  dark,  whether  straight 
or  wavy.  He  does  not  give  a  detailed  description 
of  the  features  from  the  standpoint  of  material 
beauty.  What  he  does  do  is  to  describe  the  fea- 
tures by  the  effect  they  produce.     The  eyes  are  so 

.  .  .  because  they  wish  to  act  the  critic  before  they  have  begun 
to  be  scholars." — Winckelmann,  History  of  Ancient  Art,  translated 
by  Lodge,  p,  243. 


2oo  Shakespeare's  Plots 

beautiful,   so  lifelike,   that  they  apparently  move. 
The  lips,  paired  with  perfect  symmetry,   are  like 
sweet  friends.     They    are    severed    as    expressing 
eager  interest,  being  parted with  sugar  breath.     Her 
hair  is  so  beautiful  that  it  is  a  golden  mesh  to  entrap 
the  hearts  of  men.     Again  recurring  to  the  eyes,  the 
windows  out  of  which  the  mind  and  soul  look,  the 
poet  speaks  of  their  bewitching,  captivating  power. 
Not  in  the  case  of  any  of  these  features  does  he 
describe  it  from  the  standpoint  of  material  beauty, 
but  in  every  instance  the  beauty  of  the  feature  is 
portrayed  by  its  effect.     The  seductive,  the  entran- 
cing power  on  the  mind  and  emotion  of  the  beholder 
is  set  forth.     From  the  effect  we  are  left  to  infer  as 
to  the  cause.     In  so  doing,  Shakespeare  is  true  to 
the  canons  of  poetic  art.     When  Homer  would  de- 
scribe   Helen's  beauty,   he   informs  us  only  of  its 
effect  on  the  Elders  of  Troy: 

Helen  they  saw,  as  to  the  tow'r  she  came; 

And  't  is  no  marvel,  one  to  other  said, 

The  valiant  Trojans  and  the  well-greaved  Greeks, 

For  beauty  such  as  this  should  long  endure 

The  toils  of  war;  for  goddess-like  she  seems, 

And  yet,  despite  her  beauty,  let  her  go, 

Nor  bring  on  us  and  on  our  sons  a  curse.1 

Here  is  not  a  word  about  Helen's  personal  appear- 
ance,  and  yet  a  perfect  description  of  her  great 
beauty.  Similarly  Shakespeare  informs  us  of 
Helen's  beauty: 

1  Iliad,  Derby's  translation,  Book  III.,  verse  185,  stq. 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  201 

Why,  she  is  a  pearl, 
Whose  price  hath  launch'd  above  a  thousand  ships, 
And  turn'd  crown'd  kings  to  merchants. 

Of  the  same  nature  is  Shakespeare's  description  of 

Cleopatra: 

For  her  own  person, 
It  beggar'd  all  description:  she  did  lie 
In  her  pavilion — cloth-of-gold  of  tissue — 
O'er  picturing  that  Venus  where  we  see 
The  fancy  outwork  nature:  on  each  side  her 
Stood  pretty  dimpled  boys,  like  smiling  Cupids, 
With  divers-colour'd  fans,  whose  wind  did  seem 
To  glow  the  delicate  cheeks  which  they  did  cool, 
And  what  they  undid  did.     .     .     . 

.     .     The  city  cast 
Her  people  out  upon  her;  and  Antony, 
Enthroned  i'  the  market-place,  did  sit  alone, 
Whistling  to  the  air;  which,  but  for  vacancy, 
Had  gone  to  gaze  on  Cleopatra  too 
And  made  a  gap  in  Nature. 

Paint  for  us,  ye  poets  [says  Lessing],  the  delight,  the 
affection,  the  love,  the  rapture,  which  beauty  produce:, 
and  you  have  painted  beauty  itself.  Who  can  image  to 
himself  as  ugly  the  beloved  object  at  whose  sight  Sappho 
confesses  she  is  deprived  of  all  sense  and  thought  ? 
Who  does  not  believe  that  he  sees  the  most  perfectly 
beautiful  form  as  soon  as  he  sympathizes  with  those  feel- 
ings which  only  such  a  form  can  awaken  ? ' 

And  such  feelings  are  evoked  by  Homer's  descrip- 
tion of  Helen,  and  likewise  by  Shakespeare's  of  her, 
of  Cleopatra,  and  of  Portia. 

1  Laokoen,  chap.  xxi. 


202  Shakespeare's  Plots 

This  method  of  describing  physical  beauty  marks 
one  of  the  limitations  of  the  poetic  art.  In  this  it 
differs  from  the  plastic  arts.  The  philosophy  of  it 
is  thus  stated  by  Lessing: 

Material  beauty  arises  from  the  harmonious  effect  of 
numerous  parts,  all  of  which  the  sight  is  capable  of  com- 
prehending at  the  same  time.  It  requires,  therefore, 
that  these  parts  should  lie  in  juxtaposition;  and  since 
things  whose  parts  lie  in  juxtaposition  are  the  peculiar 
objects  of  the  plastic  arts,  these  it  is,  and  these  only, 
which  can  imitate  material  beauty.' 

The  poet  cannot  describe  all  the  details  at  the 
same  moment.  One  detail  after  another  is  por- 
trayed. Therefore,  by  the  limitation  of  his  art,  he 
cannot  describe  beauty  from  the  material  stand- 
point, the  beauty  of  feature,  of  form,  but  only  by 
its  effects,  its  subtle  influence  on  the  mind  and  the 
emotion  of  the  beholder.  When  Priam  and  the 
Elders  of  Troy  saw  Helen  they  saw  in  her  beauty 
the  cause  of  the  Trojan  war.  Shakespeare  says 
that  her  beauty  made  merchants  of  crowned  kings. 
Cleopatra's  beauty  was  such  that  all  the  city  went 
out  to  gaze  upon  it.  Portia's  beauty  of  eye  and 
lip,  as  well  as  of  hair,  was  but 

A  golden  mesh  to  entrap  the  hearts  of  men 
Faster  than  gnats  in  cobwebs. 

The  Climax  ends  with  preparations  for  the  relief 
of  Antonio.     Portia  offers  to  give  any  amount  of 
money  necessary  to  pay  the  loan,  and  relieve  him 
1  Laokoon,  chap.  xx. 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  203 

from  the  clutches  of  his  remorseless  creditor.     She 
then  says  to  Bassanio: 

0  love,  dispatch  all  business,  and  be  gone! 
Bassanio  promptly  and  loyally  obeys: 

Since  I  have  your  good  leave  to  go  away, 

1  will  make  haste:  but,  till  I  come  again, 
No  bed  shall  e'er  be  guilty  of  my  stay, 
No  rest  be  interposer  'twixt  us  twain. 

FALL 

in.,  3-5 

The  Climax  ended  with  Antonio's  letter  to  Bas- 
sanio, announcing  his  ruined  condition.  Its  con- 
tents had  been  confirmed  by  Salerio,  who  stated 
that  all  Antonio's  ventures  had  failed.  Anticipating 
this  result,  Shylock  had  directed  Tubal:  Go,  Tubal, 
fee  me  an  officer ;  bespeak  him  a  fortnight  before. 
This  had  been  done.  At  last  Shylock's  opportunity 
to  wreak  vengeance  has  come.  He  has  caught  An- 
tonio on  the  hip.  Antonio  now  appears  in  the 
custody  of  a  gaoler.  With  him  are  also  Shylock 
and  Salarino.  A  brief  conversation  is  held  by  An- 
tonio and  Shylock,  almost  every  word  of  which 
foreshadows  the  Trial  Scene.  Antonio  appeals  for 
mercy. 

Hear  me  yet,  good  Shylock; 
I  pray  thee,  hear  me  speak. 


204  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Shylock  refuses  to  listen : 

I'll  have  my  bond  ;  I  will  not  hear  thee  speak  :  seq. 

So  did  he  likewise  at  the  trial.     In  response  to 
the  Duke's  appeal  he  said  : 

I  have  possess'd  your  grace  of  what  I  purpose 
And  by  our  holy  Sabbath  have  I  sworn 
To  have  the  due  and  forfeit  of  my  bond: 

When  Bassanio  offers, 

For  thy  three  thousand  ducats  here  is  six, 

Shylock  answers: 

If  every  ducat  in  six  thousand  ducats 

Were  in  six  parts  and  every  part  a  ducat, 

I  would  not  draw  them;  I  would  have  my  bond. 

When  Portia  pleaded  for  mercy  he  responded : 

My  deeds  upon  my  head!     I  crave  the  law, 
The  penalty  and  forfeit  of  my  bond. 

And,  finally: 

By  my  soul  I  swear 
There  is  no  power  in  the  tongue  of  man 
To  alter  me:  I  stay  here  on  my  bond. 

Shylock  did  not  grant  Antonio's  prayer  for  mercy. 
Nor  did  he  grant  that  of  the  Duke,  or  that  of 
Portia. 

The  reason  for  Shylock's  cruelty  is  announced  by 
himself: 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  205 

This  is  the  fool  that  lent  out  money  gratis. 

Antonio  was  fully  cognizant  of  this: 

His  reason  well  I  know: 
I  oft  deliver'd  from  his  forfeitures 
Many  that  have  at  times  made  moan  to  me; 
Therefore  he  hates  me. 

Shylock,  unrelenting,  and  uttering  the  words,  / 
will  have  my  bond,  makes  his  exit.  Antonio  recog- 
nizes the  uselessness  of  further  appeal  and  says: 

Let  him  alone: 
I  Ml  follow  him  no  more  with  bootless  prayers. 

Salarino  then  expresses  the  belief  that 

The  Duke 
Will  never  grant  this  forfeiture  to  hold. 

Antonio  replies: 

The  Duke  cannot  deny  the  course  of  law: 
For  the  commodity  that  strangers  have 
With  us  in  Venice,  if  it  be  denied, 
Will  much  impeach  the  justice  of  his  state; 
Since  that  the  trade  and  profit  of  the  city 
Consisteth  of  all  nations. 

Here,  again,  the  Trial  Scene  is  foreshadowed. 
Responding  to  the  Duke's  appeal,  Shylock  de« 
manded 

the  due  and  forfeit  of  my  bond: 
If  you  deny  it,  let  the  danger  light 
Upon  your  charter  and  your  city's  freedom. 


206  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Later, 

If  you  deny  me,  fie  upon  your  law! 
There  is  no  force  in  the  decrees  of  Venice. 

The  full  force  of  this  argument  is  perceived  when 
we  remember  that  the  prosperity,  the  very  life,  of 
Venice  was  based  on  commerce;  and  that  that,  like 
civilization,  depends  on  a  faithful  observance  of 
contracts.' 

The  first  Scene  of  the  Fall  closes  with  Antonio's 
description  of  himself: 

These  griefs  and  losses  have  so  bated  me, 
That  I  shall  hardly  spare  a  pound  of  flesh 
To-morrow  to  my  bloody  creditor: 

and  also  with  the   expression  of  his  wish  to  see 
Bassanio : 

Pray  God,  Bassanio  come 
To  see  me  pay  his  debt,  and  then  I  care  not! 

At  the  close  of  the  Climax  (III.,  2\  Portia  had 
sent  Bassanio  to  the  relief  of  Antonio.  Bassanio 
had  no  sooner  started  on  that  mission  than  Portia 
made  arrangements  to  do  likewise.  The  second 
Scene  of  the  Fall  (III.,  4)  is  devoted  to  the  descrip- 
tion of  what  she  did.  The  Scene  opens  with  Lo- 
renzo's tribute  to  her,  her  absent  lord,  and  his  friend 
Antonio.       Portia   replies  thereto,    and  then,    an- 

1  "  The  ancient  Celtic  law  book,  the  Senchus  Mor,  announced  that 
there  are  '  three  periods  at  which  the  world  is  worthless  :  The  time 
of  a  plague,  of  a  general  war,  and  of  the  dissolution  of  express  con- 
tracts !  " — Kurness,  Variorum  edition  of  Merchant  of  Venue,  appen- 
dix, p.  414. 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  207 

nouncing  her  determination  to  go  into  a  convent 
accompanied  by  Nerissa,  she  commits  into  Lo- 
renzo's hands 

The  husbandry  and  manage  of  my  house, 
Until  my  lord's  return. 

She  dispatches  Balthasa/  with  a  letter  to  her  cousin, 
Doctor  Bellario.  She  finally  announces  to  Nerissa 
her  intention  to  disguise  both  her  and  herself  in  the 
habit  of  men,  and  thus  accoutred  to  do  some  work, 

That  you  yet  know  not  of. 

Sometimes  in  dramatic  as  in  real  life  circum- 
stances arise  which  make  it  necessary  for  a  woman 
to  do  work  which  belongs  preeminently  to  a  man. 
In  every  such  case  in  the  Shakespearian  dramas, 
Shakespeare  disguises  the  woman  in  a  male  habit. 
And  yet  not  one  of  the  women  whom  he  so  dis- 
guises, Julia,  Rosalind,  Viola,  Imogen,  Jessica,  Ne- 
rissa, Portia,  ever  forgets  her  sex  or  becomes  coarse. 
While  the  dress  is  that  of  a  man,  the  nature,  the 
delicacy,  is  that  of  a  woman.  Every  one  of  these 
women  possessed  an  affectional  nature  developed  to 
the  highest  degree.  Each  one,  while  accoutred  like 
a  young  man,  was  in  love  with  a  man.  Rosalind, 
the  victim  of  oppression,  banished  by  her  cruel 
uncle,  gladly  leaves  the  court  and  flees  to  the  forest 
of  Arden.  When  Celia  decides  to  accompany  her, 
Rosalind  proposes,  since 

Beauty  provoketh  thieves  sooner  than  gold, 

to  assume  a  male  guise.     She  plays  her  part  in  a 


2o8  Shakespeare's  Plots 

holiday  humour,  and  with  high  spirits;  yet  she  never 
forgets  her  innocence  or  her  womanhood.  Imogen 
is  compelled  to  leave  her  father's  court,  and  flee  into 
the  Welsh  mountains.     Pisanio  advises  her  to  don 

.     .     .     doublet,  hat,  hose,  all 
That  answer  to  them. 

Imogen  immediately  and  bravely  acts  on  this  advice. 
So  Julia,  in  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  and  Viola,  in 
Twelfth  Night,  although  in  male  guise,  are  always 
innocent,  lovely,  feminine.  In  every  instance,  as 
Imogen  said, 

.     .     such  means 
Though  peril  to  my  modesty,  not  death  on't. 

In  this  play  Jessica  for  the  purpose  of  flight  dresses 
in  boy's  clothes.  She  does  not  become  boyish, 
coarse,  immodest,  but  is  always  the  innocent 
maiden.  When  she  appeared  prepared  to  elope,  she 
said  to  Lorenzo: 

I  am  glad  't  is  night,  you  do  not  look  on  me, 
For  I  am  much  ashamed  of  my  exchange:  seq. 

Nerissa  assumes  a  male  guise  to  aid  Portia.  Portia 
does  so  in  order  to  save  her  husband's  friend.  She 
is  the  Resolving  Force  in  this  drama.  One  of  her 
principal  functions  as  such  is  to  save  Antonio.  F*or 
that  purpose  she  assumes  a  male  attire,  and  does  so 
seriously,  and  also  with  glee: 

I  '11  hold  thee  any  wager, 
When  we  are  both  accoutred  like  young  men, 
I  '11  prove  the  prettier  fellow  of  the  two, 


The  Merchant  of  Venice         209 

And  wear  my  dagger  with  the  braver  grace, 
And  speak  between  the  change  of  man  and  boy 
With  a  reed  voice,  and  turn  two  mincing  steps 
Into  a  manly  stride,  and  speak  of  frays 
Like  a  fine  bragging  youth,  and  tell  quaint  lies, 
How  honourable  ladies  sought  my  love, 
Which  I  denying,  they  fell  sick  and  died. 

And  as  long  as  she  is  disguised,  while  she  is  mirth- 
ful, she  is  earnest;  while  noble  and  gracious  she 
possesses  an  exhilarating  sense  of  fun  ;  above  all,  she 
is  a  true  woman. 

In  nothing  does  Shakespeare  manifest  the  perfec- 
tion of  his  art  more  than  in  his  portraiture  of 
woman.  He  never  created  a  masculine  woman. 
Such  are  unnatural,  abnormal.  This  is  tacitly  ac- 
knowledged in  the  old  legend  of  the  Amazons. 
They  are  generally  located  in  the  vicinity 

.     .     .     of  the  Cannibals  that  each  other  eat, 
The  Anthropophagi,  and  men  whose  heads 
Do  grow  beneath  their  shoulders, 

the  philosophy  of  which,  according  to  Bacon,  is, 
where  women  unsex  themselves  and  become  and  act 
like  men,  men  will  be  monsters.  Shakespeare's 
women  are  not  Amazonian,  but  feminine. 

Among  all  the  women  Shakespeare  created  there 
are  but  one  or  two  who  are  not  as  chaste  as  ice,  as 
pure  as  snow.  When  Cressida  was  unfaithful  to 
Troilus,  the  latter  says,  and  there  can  be  no  nobler 
tribute  to  womanhood: 

Let  it  not  be  believed  for  womanhood! 

Think,  we  had  mothers;  do  not  give  advantage 


2io  Shakespeare's  Plots 

To  stubborn  critics,  apt,  without  a  theme 

For  depravation,  to  square  the  general  sex 

By  Cressid's  rule:  rather  think  this  not  Cressid. 

To  return,  Scene  4  is  wholly  transitional.  In  it 
Shakespeare  prepares  the  spectator  for  the  Trial 
Scene.  Before  that  begins,  however,  we  have  Scene 
5,  which  is  the  last  of  the  Fall.  This  is  a  comic  in- 
terlude. In  it  there  is  no  movement.  It  is  a  con- 
versation, first  between  Jessica  and  Launcelot;  later, 
Lorenzo  joins  them,  and  takes  part.  The  conversa- 
tion is  pervaded  with  a  spirit  of  playfulness  and 
banter. 

Shakespeare  frequently  introduces  a  comic  scene 
near  the  conclusion  of  a  tragedy.  His  purpose  is 
twofold:  to  relieve  temporarily  the  strained  feelings 
of  the  spectators,  and  to  make,  by  this  use  of  Con- 
trast, the  Catastrophe  more  tragic.  In  Hamlet,  just 
before  the  duel  between  Hamlet  and  Laertes,  Osric 
is  introduced.  Between  him  and  Hamlet  there  is 
held  a  bantering  conversation.  This  is  no  sooner 
ended  than  the  duel  takes  place,  the  result  of  which 
is  death  to  Laertes,  the  King,  the  Queen,  and  Ham- 
let.   In  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  the  Clown  who  brings 

.     .     .     the  pretty  worm  of  Nilus 
That  kills  and  pains  not 

tells  her  that  his  biting  is  immortal ;  those  that  do  die 
of  it  do  seldom  or  never  recover.  With  this  jesting 
in  the  very  presence  of  death,  Cleopatra's  fate 
becomes  more  appalling.  In  the  Merchant  of  Ven- 
ice the  Scene  which  ushers  in  the  Catastrophe  is  a 
comic  interlude.     It  makes  more  tragic  the   Trial 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  211 

Scene  which  immediately  follows.      For  this  pur- 
pose it  was  introduced  by  Shakespeare. 

CATASTROPHE 

IV.,  V. 

The  Trial  Scene  (IV.,  1)  is  a  caricature  of  legal 
justice.  At  the  same  time,  it  is  a  masterpiece  of 
dramatic  construction.  How  are  these  two  state- 
ments reconciled  ?  Shakespeare  was  writing  not  a 
legal  treatise,  but  a  drama.  In  studying  this  Trial 
Scene  this  fact  must  continually  be  borne  in  mind. 
Forgetfulness  of  it  leads  to  numberless  misconcep- 
tions and  errors;  in  fact,  completely  blinds  one  to 
appreciation  of  this  play  as  a  work  of  dramatic  art. 
Most  criticisms  of  Shakespeare's  construction  of  this 
play  betray  forgetfulness  of  the  truth  that  this  is  a 
drama,  and  that  many  things  which  are  not  allow- 
able in  a  history  or  a  story  are  legitimate  in  a 
drama,  because  of  what  is,  technically,  dramatic  ne- 
cessity. "Anything  in  art  is  right  which  enhances 
an  effect  legitimate  to  the  product  in  which  it  is 
used."  '  The  essential  point,  Ihe  final  test  by  which 
we  must  judge  this  Trial  Scene,  as  every  Scene  in  a 
drama,  for  it  is  a  universal  test,  is  dramatic  appro- 
priateness. The  beginning  of  all  true  aesthetic  criti- 
cism is  the  recognition  of  the  truth  that  Art  in  any 
foim  "  addresses  not  pure  sense,  still  less  the  pure 
intellect,  but  the  imaginative  reason  through 
the  senses." ' 

1  Raymond,  Genesis  of  Art. Form,  p.  137. 
1  Pater,  Renaissante,  p.  135. 


212  Shakespeare's  Plots 

It  is  not  at  all  necessary  that  in  a  drama  justice 
to  be  perfect  should  be  strictly  legal.  All  that  is 
necessary  is  that  it  should  be  in  accord  with  what  is 
technically  Poetic  Justice.  What  is  that  ?  It  is  jus- 
tice made  artistic.  This  does  not  mean  that  Poetic 
Justice  violates  the  eternal  laws  of  right  and  wrong, 
that  it  is  not  in  harmony  with  the  experiences  of 
human  life.  It  must  be  both.  The  justice  meted 
to  Shylock  is  both.  It  is  in  accordance  with  the 
eternal  laws  of  right  and  wrong,  and  also  with  the 
experiences  of  human  life. 

Shylock's  motive  was  complex.  It  was,  first,  re- 
venge ;  second,  rapacity.  He  reveals  this  in  his 
conversation  with  Tubal.  When  informed  by  Tubal, 
Antonio  cannot  choose  but  break,  Shylock  said 

I  '11  plague  him;  I  '11  torture  him.  ...  I  will 
have  the  heart  of  him,  if  he  forfeit;  for,  were  he  out  of 
Venice,  I  can  make  what  merchandise  I  will. 

In    estimating   the   full    force   of    these   words,    it 
must  be  remembered  that  they  were  spoken  by  Shy- 
lock to  his  coreligionist,  and  in  the  confidence  and 
candor  of  friendship. 
It  is  eternally  true  that 

Revenge,  at  first  though  sweet,  bitter  erelong, 
Back  on  itself  recoils. 

Shylock  is  blind  to  this.  He  rejects  all  appeals  for 
mercy.  He  demands  judgment  according  to  the 
law.  Pushing  that  demand  to  an  extreme  point,  he 
violates  a  law  of  Venice,  and  thereby  puts  himself 
in  a  position  which  is  fatal: 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  213 

Tarry,  Jew: 
The  law  hath  yet  another  hold  on  you. 
It  is  enacted  in  the  laws  of  Venice, 
If  it  be  proved  against  an  alien 
That  by  direct  or  indirect  attempts 
He  seek  the  life  of  any  citizen, 
The  party  'gainst  the  which  he  doth  contrive 
Shall  seize  one  half  his  goods;  the  other  half 
Comes  to  the  privy  coffer  of  the  state; 
And  the  offender's  life  lies  in  the  mercy 
Of  the  duke  only,  'gainst  all  other  voice. 
In  which  predicament,  I  say,  thou  stand'st. 

Shylock's  desire  for  revenge,  so  intense,  so  bitter, 
so  deadly,  neutralizes  itself  and  recoils  upon  his  own 
head. 

Poetic  Justice  must  also  be  in  accord  with  the  ex- 
periences of  human  life.  Shylock  is  not  the  only 
one  in  this  play  who  suffers.  Antonio  experiences 
the  keenest  anguish.  Why  ?  Because  he  signed  a 
bond,  by  means  of  which  he  risked  his  fortune  and 
his  life  for  the  sole  purpose  of  aiding  his  friend.  Is 
his  distress  in  accord  with  the  experiences  of  human 
life  ?  In  this  world  suffering  is  the  experience  not 
alone  of  wrong-doers.  The  innocent  also  suffer. 
When  the  Messenger  brought  word  to  Cleopatra 
that  Antony  was  married  to  Octavia,  Cleopatra 
drew  a  knife  and  attempted  to  kill  the  Messenger 
for  bringing  such  unwelcome  news.  Charmian  re- 
monstrated : 

Good  madam,  keep  yourself  within  yourself: 
The  man  is  innocent. 


214  Shakespeare's  Plots 

To  this  Cleopatra  responded : 

Some  innocents  'scape  not  the  thunderbolt. 

In  real  life  the  wayward  son  brings  sorrow  and 
disgrace  upon  the  saintly  parents.  The  innocent 
wife  and  children  suffer  for  the  misconduct  of  the 
husband  and  father.  In  the  drama  the  honest, 
open,  affectionate,  but  deceived  and  misguided 
Othello  suffers  the  torments  of  the  lost ;  the  faithful 
Cordelia  dies  with  her  father.  In  this  play  Antonio 
is  brought,  by  his  friendship  for  Bassanio,  to  the 
very  verge  of  destruction.  Such  is  Poetic  Justice. 
While  it  is  not  strictly  legal  justice,  it  is  justice  in 
perfect  accord  with  the  eternal  laws  of  right  and 
wrong;  with  the  experiences  of  humanity.  It  is  jus- 
tice modified  by  considerations  of  Art.  It  is  artistic 
justice. 

The  Trial  Scene  opens  with  a  conversation  be- 
tween the  Duke  and  Antonio.  Shylock's  lodged 
hate  against  Antonio  has  developed  to  the  highest 
degree,  and  has  made  him,  as  the  Duke  says: 

A  stony  adversary,  an  inhuman  wretch 
Uncapable  of  pity,  void  and  empty 
From  any  dram  of  mercy. 

Antonio's  misfortunes  had  been  numerous  and 
ruinous.  His  appeals  for  mercy  had  been  spurned 
by  Shylock.     He  resigns  himself  to  his  fate: 

I  have  heard 
Your  grace  hath  ta'en  great  pains  to  qualify 
His  rigorous  course;  but  since  he  stands  obdurate 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  215 

And  that  no  lawful  means  can  carry  me 
Out  of  his  envy's  reach,  I  do  oppose 
My  patience  to  his  fury,  and  am  arm'd 
To  suffer,  with  a  quietness  of  spirit, 
The  very  tyranny  and  rage  of  his. 

Shylock  enters.  At  last  these  two  men,  who  are 
the  principal  actors  in  the  Sub-Action,  whose  ex- 
periences constitute  the  tragedy  of  the  play,  stand 
face  to  face  in  the  ducal  court.  A  study  of  this 
Trial  Scene  in  detail  will  reveal  the  fact  that  it  is  a 
masterpiece  of  dramatic  construction. 

The  Duke,  addressing  Shylock,  expresses  the 
opinion  which  is  current,  which  is  natural,  that  Shy- 
lock will  eventually  show  mercy.  The  latter,  in  a 
most  emphatic  and  determined  manner,  gives  the 
Duke  to  understand  that  that  opinion  is  incorrect: 

I  have  possess'd  your  grace  of  what  I  purpose 
And  by  our  holy  Sabbath  have  I  sworn 
To  have  the  due  and  forfeit  of  my  bond. 

Shylock  declines  to  give  any  reason  for  his  strange 
apparent  cruelty,  for  his  choice  of  a  weight  of  carrion 
flesh  rather  than  three  thousand  ducats,  except,  it  is 
my  humour.  Then  follows  an  angry  discussion  be- 
tween Bassanio  and  Shylock.  Antonio  perceives  the 
uselessness  of  further  appeal  to  Shylock's  mercy  and 
says : 

Therefore,  I  do  beseech  you, 
Make  no  more  offers,  use  no  farther  means, 
But  with  all  brief  and  plain  conveniency 
Let  me  have  judgement,  and  the  Jew  his  will. 


216  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Bassanio,  recognizing  the  fact  that  Shylock  is  un- 
merciful, appeals  to  his  cupidity: 

For  thy  three  thousand  ducats  here  is  six. 

Shylock  refuses  the  offer.     The  Duke  says: 

How  shalt  thou  hope  for  mercy,  rendering  none  ? 

Shylock  replies: 

I  stand  for  judgement:  answer;  shall  I  have  it  ? 

The  Duke  is  on  the  point  of  dismissing  the  court, 
when  a  messenger  (Nerissa)  arrives  with  letters  from 
Bellario.  Shylock  thinks  his  triumph  sure  and  com- 
plete.     He  sharpens  his  knife, 

To  cut  the  forfeiture  from  that  bankrupt  there. 

A  fierce  dispute  now  takes  place  between  Bassanio 
and  Gratiano  on  the  one  side,  and  the  pitiless  and 
murderous  Shylock  on  the  other.  Portia  enters. 
She  is  informed  thoroughly  of  the  cause.  She  as- 
serts that  Shylock's  claim  is  legal: 

Of  a  strange  nature  is  the  suit  you  follow; 
Yet  in  such  rule  that  the  Venetian  law 
Cannot  impugn  you  as  you  do  proceed. 

She  asks  Antonio  if  he  confesses  the  bond.  He 
replies  in  the  affirmative.  Then  Portia,  following 
the  example  of  Antonio,  the  Duke,  and  Bassanio, 
appeals  to  Shylock's  mercy: 

The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strain'd,  seq. 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  217 

Shylock  rejects  this  entreaty  as  he  had  the  others. 
Thus  o  ice  more  does  he  refuse  to  grant  mercy.  By 
making  him?  act  in  this  inhuman  manner,  Shake- 
speare accomplishes  two  objects:  1.  He  makes  more 
apparent  the  cruelty  of  Shylock's  nature  and  con- 
duct. 2.  He  intensifies  to  the  highest  degree  the 
emotional  strain  of  Antonio  and  his  friends. 

Portia  asks : 

Is  he  not  able  to  discharge  the  money  ? 

Bassanio  offer?  it,  Yea,  tivice  the  sum  ;  in  fact,  ten 
times  o'er;  and  then  prays  Portia: 

Wrest  once  the  law  to  your  authority: 
To  do  a  great  right,  do  a  little  wrong, 
And  curb  this  cruel  devil  of  his  will. 

Portia  declines,  it  must  not  be.  Shylock's  triumph 
seems  assured : 

A  Daniel  come  to  judgement!  yea,  a  Daniel! 

Still  Portia  delays.  Although  she  knows  the  ex- 
act point  on  wiiich  she  proposes  to  decide  against 
Shylock  and  to  save  Antonio,  she  prolongs  to  the 
utmost  extent  the  crisis.  In  this  Shakespeare  mani- 
fests perfect  technique.  Portia  asks  to  see  the  bond. 
While  examining  it,  she  says  incidentally: 

Shylock,  there  's  thrice  thy  money  offer'd  thee. 

Shylock  responds: 

An  oath,  an  oath,  I  have  an  oath  in  heaven. 


218  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Was  that  the  oath  referred  to  by  Jessica? 

When  I  was  with  him  I  have  heard  him  swear 
To  Tubal  and  to  Chus,  his  countrymen, 
That  he  would  rather  have  Antonio's  flesh 
Than  twenty  times  the  value  of  the  sum 
That  he  did  owe  him. 

Portia  then  begins  to  give  judgment: 

Why,  this  bond  is  forfeit; 
And  lawfully  by  this  the  Jew  may  claim 
A  pound  of  flesh,  to  be  by  him  cut  off 
Nearest  the  merchant's  heart. 

Once  more  she  appeals  to  Shylock's  mercy,  and 
then  to  his  cupidity: 

Be  merciful: 
Take  thrice  thy  money;  bid  me  tear  the  bond. 

But  in  vain.     Shylock  replies: 

By  my  soul  I  swear, 
There  is  no  power  in  the  tongue  of  man 
To  alter  me:  I  stay  here  on  my  bond. 

The  emotional  strain  has  now  become  so  intense 
that  Antonio  can  endure  it  no  longer.  He  joins 
with  Shylock  in  asking  judgment: 

Most  heartily  I  do  beseech  the  Court 
To  give  the  judgement. 

Portia  complies  with  the  request  and  proceeds 
slowly,   giving  judgment   in   favor  of  Shylock   on 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  219 

every  point.     Shylock  gloats  over  his  helpless  vic- 
tim.    Portia  now  turns  to  Antonio: 

You,  merchant,  have  you  anything  to  say  ? 

Shakespeare,  as  a  great  artist,  knew  well  the  pow- 
erful effect  of  Contrast.  He  had  opposed  Antonio's 
patience  to  Shylock's  fury;  Antonio's  quietness  of 
spirit  to  the  very  tyranny  and  rage  of  Shylock's. 
Over  against  Shylock's  triumph,  he  now  portrays 
Antonio's  despair.  He  contrasts  Shylock's  fiendish 
malignity  with  Antonio's  love  for  Bassanio.  In  a 
speech  full  of  deep  and  passionate  emotion  Antonio 
says: 

Give  me  your  hand,  Bassanio:  fare  you  well! 
Grieve  not  that  I  am  fallen  to  this  for  you;  seq. 

Shakespeare  now  again  makes  use  of  Contrast. 
In  order  to  intensify  the  tragic,  he  introduces  the 
comic.  Antonio  concludes  what  he  and  all  believe 
to  be  his  dying  speech  by  a  very  humorous  play  on 
words: 

For  if  the  Jew  do  cut  but  deep  enough, 
I  '11  pay  it  presently  with  all  my  heart. 

Then  Bassanio,  in  a  passionate  outburst  of  de- 
spairing friendship,  says  to  Antonio,  in  the  presence 
of  Portia,  he  would  sacrifice  everything,  even  his 
wife,  to  deliver  him.  Gratiano,  in  the  presence  of 
Nerissa,  wishes  his  wife 

were  in  heaven,  so  she  could 
Entreat  some  power  to  change  this  currish  Jew. 


220  Shakespeare's  Plots 

the  humor  of  all  which  is  apparent  when  we  remem- 
ber that  the  spectators  of  this  drama  know,  what 
none  in  that  court  but  Portia  and  Nerissa  knew, 
that  they  were  the  wives  of  Bassanio  and  Gratiano. 
Shylock  now  again  asks  for  judgment: 

We  trifle  time:  I  pray  thee,  pursue  sentence. 
Portia  proceeds: 

A  pound  of  that  same  merchant's  flesh  is  thine: 
The  court  awards  it,  and  the  law  doth  give  it. 
And  you  must  cut  this  flesh  from  off  his  breast: 
The  law  allows  it,  and  the  court  awards  it. 

Then,  as  Shylock  says  to  Antonio,  Come,  prepare  / 
and  is  about  to  proceed  to  cut  the  flesh,  Portia 
says,  Tarry  a  little.  This  is  the  climax  of  the  Trial 
Scene.  This  Scene,  like  the  play  of  which  it  forms 
a  part,  is  written  in  the  form  of  an  arch.  In  both, 
Shakespeare's  work  is  perfectly  symmetrical;  that 
is,  the  factors  on  one  side  of  the  climax  balance 
perfectly  those  on  the  other  side.  The  crest  of  the 
arch  is  the  words  Tarry  a  little.  Previous  to  this 
Shylock  is  triumphant,  every  decision  has  been  in 
his  favor;  subsequent  to  this  every  decision  is 
against  him.  Previous  to  this  his  fiendish  glee  is 
growing  greater  and  greater,  his  knife  has  been 
sharpened  to  the  keenness  of  a  razor;  following  this 
his  glee  changes  first  into  seriousness,  then  into 
rage,  later  into  despair. 
Portia  says: 

Tarry  a  little;  there  is  something  else. 

This  bond  doth  give  thee  here  no  jot  of  blood; 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  221 

The  words  expressly  are,  "  a  pound  of  flesh  ": 

Take  then  thy  bond,  take  thou  thy  pound  of  flesh; 

But,  in  the  cutting  it,  if  thou  dost  shed 

One  drop  of  Christian  blood,  thy  lands  and  goods 

Are,  by  the  laws  of  Venice,  confiscate 

Unto  the  state  of  Venice. 

Of  course  this  is  a  quibble.  The  justice  which 
Portia  dispenses  is  not  legal  but  Poetic  Justice. 
The  man  who  had  pushed  his  suit  to  the  extreme 
degree  because  it  was  his  humour,  now  receives  an 
adverse  decision  based  on  a  petty  sophism.  The 
man  who  craved  the  law  and  stood  on  the  literal 
reading  of  the  bond,  now  receives  a  justice  which, 
while  inequitable,  was  based  on  the  letter  of  the  law. 
The  man  who  had  rejected  thrice  the  amount  of  the 
bond  can  now  collect  nothing  but  the  penalty. 
The  man  who  had  said  triumphantly,  A  Daniel  come 
to  judgement,  now  has  that  phrase  tauntingly  re- 
peated to  him  by  Gratiano: 

A  Daniel,  still  say  I,  a  second  Daniel! 

I  thank  thee,  Jew,  for  teaching  me  that  word. 

The  man  who  had  forced  Antonio  into  a  position  in 
which,  in  the  bitterness  of  his  distress,  he  said: 

For  herein  Fortune  shows  herself  more  kind 

Than  is  her  custom:  it  is  still  her  use 

To  let  the  wretched  man  outlive  his  wealth, 

To  view  with  hollow  eye  and  wrinkled  brow 

An  age  of  poverty;  from  which  lingering  penance 

Of  such  misery  doth  she  cut  me  off, 


222  Shakespeare's  Plots 

now  by  the  reaction  of  his  cruelty  on  himself  is 
ruined : 

Nay,  take  my  life  and  all;  pardon  not  that: 
You  take  my  house  when  you  do  take  the  prop 
That  doth  sustain  my  house;  you  take  my  life 
When  you  do  take  the  means  whereby  I  live. 

Thus  the  whirligig  of  time  brings  in  his  revenges, 
and  thus  Shakespeare  has  made  this  Trial  Scene 
symmetrical  by  making  the  factors  on  one  side  of 
the  climax  balance  those  on  the  other. 

The  object  of  tragedy,  said  Aristotle,  is  to  evoke 
pity  and  fear.  By  a  masterpiece  of  Dramatic 
Hedging  Shakespeare  evokes  pity  for  Shylock.  The 
latter  not  only  loses  his  suit,  and  with  that  his 
wealth,  but  also  is  insulted  and  outraged,  grossly 
and  cruelly.  Antonio  foregoes  his  share  of  the  fine 
on  condition 

.     .     .     he  will  let  me  have 
The  other  half  in  use,  to  render  it, 
Upon  his  death,  unto  the  gentleman 
That  lately  stole  his  daughter: 
Two  things  provided  more,  that,  for  this  favour, 
He  presently  become  a  Christian; 
The  other,  that  he  do  record  a  gift, 
Here  in  the  court,  of  all  he  dies  possess'd, 
Unto  his  son  Lorenzo  and  his  daughter. 

Shylock,  in  a  frenzy  of  grief,  says: 

I  pray  you,  give  me  leave  to  go  from  hence; 
I  am  not  well  :  send  the  deed  after  me, 
And  I  will  sign  it. 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  223 

He  leaves  the  court  ruined,  broken-hearted. 

With  the  close  of  the  trial  the  tragic  in  this  play 
ends.  The  Sub-Action— for  the  loan  of  three  thou- 
sand ducats  and  all  the  experiences  of  Antonio  and 
Shylock  resulting  therefrom  constitute  a  Sub-Ac- 
tion— gives  way  to  the  Main  Action,  the  love  affair 
of  Bassanio  and  Portia.  All  impediments  to  the  full 
fruition  of  that  love  have  now  been  removed.  The 
Main  Action  of  the  drama,  therefore,  from  this  time 
moves  forward  rapidly  and  happily  to  the  conclu- 
sion. 

After  Bassanio  had  made  the  successful  choice  of 
the  casket,  and  thereby  won  Portia,  Portia  gave 
herself  unreservedly  to  him: 

But  now  I  was  the  lord 
Of  this  fair  mansion,  master  of  my  servants, 
Queen  o'er  myself;  and  even  now,  but  now, 
This  house,  these  servants  and  this  same  myself 
Are  yours,  my  lord:  I  give  them  with  this  ring; 
Which  when  you  part  from,  lose,  or  give  away, 
Let  it  presage  the  ruin  of  your  love 
And  be  my  vantage  to  exclaim  on  you. 

In  reply  Bassanio  said: 

But  when  this  ring 
Parts  from  this  finger,  then  parts  life  from  hence: 
O,  then  be  bold  to  say  Bassanio  's  dead! 

Shakespeare  thus  foreshadowed  the  Episode  of 
the  Rings,  which  plays  so  important  a  part  in  the 
Catastrophe.  When  Antonio  was  saved  Bassanio 
urged  the  judge  (Portia)  to  take  a  fee.  She  refused. 
He  then  said: 


224  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Dear  sir,  of  force  I  must  attempt  you  further: 
Take  some  remembrance  of  us,  as  a  tribute, 
Not  as  a  fee. 

She  yielded: 

And,  for  your  love,  I  *11  take  this  ring  from  you. 

Likewise  the  judge's  clerk  (Nerissa)  obtained  from 
Gratiano  his  ring,  which  she  had  given  to  him. 

Shakespeare  has  introduced  this  Episode  of  the 
Rings  for  two  purposes: 

1.  By  means  of  it,  the  transition  is  effected  from 
the  Sub-  to  the  Main  Action.  Bassanio  has  been 
the  connecting  link  between  Antonio  and  Shylock. 
The  tragic  Sub-Action  has  been  completed.  Shy- 
lock's  dramatic  life  having  ended,  he  has  disap- 
peared. Bassanio  now,  by  means  of  the  Ring 
Episode,  becomes  the  connecting  link  between  An- 
tonio and  Portia.  When  that  is  effected  the  Main 
Action  resumes  movement. 

2.  The  disguise  of  Portia  and  Nerissa  is  eventu- 
ally revealed  by  these  rings.  To  perceive  the 
humor  of  the  Ring  Episode,  one  fact  must  be  re- 
membered, the  spectator  knows  that  of  which  all  in 
that  court-room,  except  Portia  and  Nerissa,  are  ig- 
norant, viz.,  that  the  lawyer  is  Portia,  the  clerk  is 
Nerissa.  If  Portia  and  Nerissa  were  what  they  pre- 
tended to  be,  a  lawyer,  a  clerk,  there  would  have 
been  no  humor.  It  is  because  they  are  women,  and 
the  wives  of  these  men,  that  the  Ring  Episode  is 
humorous.  Not  at  once,  but  later,  toward  the  very 
conclusion    of    the    play,    explanations   are    made. 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  225 

When  the  party  reaches  Belmont,  Nerissa  and  Gra- 
tiano  have  a  quarrel.  The  latter,  evidently  in  reply 
to  a  question  from  Nerissa,  says: 

By  yonder  moon  I  swear  you  do  me  wrong; 
In  faith,  I  gave  it  to  the  judge's  clerk. 

Portia  inquires  What's  the  matter?  On  being 
informed  she  says  to  Gratiano,  You  were  to  6/ame, 
and  then  mischievously  adds: 

I  gave  my  love  a  ring  and  made  him  swear 
Never  to  part  with  it;  and  here  he  stands; 
I  dare  be  sworn  for  him  he  would  not  leave  it 
Nor  pluck  it  from  his  finger,  for  the  wealth 
That  the  world  masters. 

Gratiano  informed  Portia  that  Bassanio  gave  the 
ring  to  the  judge.  Bassanio  acknowledges  it.  Portia, 
then,  in  the  most  delightful  manner  banters  Bas- 
sanio. Her  bantering  is  full  of  lambent  humor, 
playful  fancy.  Antonio  intercedes  for  Bassanio. 
Portia  responds: 

Then  you  shall  be  his  surety.     Give  him  this 
And  bid  him  keep  it  better  than  the  other. 

As  a  result,  the  secret  is  revealed,  viz.,  tftat  Por- 
tia was  the  doctor,  Nerissa  there  her  clerk. 

This  Episode  is  a  fitting  conclusion  to  the  revela- 
tion of  Portia's  character.  At  the  beginning  of  the 
play  she  was  the  dutiful  daughter,  abiding  by  the 
will  of  her  father.  She  was  the  maiden  longing  to 
be  loved.      Then  she  appears  as  the  much-wooed 


226  Shakespeare's  Plots 

heiress.     By  her  witty  criticism  of  her  suitors  she 
manifests  her  keen  intellect,  her  womanly  intuition. 
When  Bassanio  has  made  the  successful  choice,  she 
surrenders   herself   unreservedly   to    the   man   she 
loves.   In  the  Trial  Scene,  contrasted  with  Shylock, 
who  represents  justice,  she  is  the  embodiment  of 
mercy.    In  this  character  she  personates  a  man.  On 
the  conclusion  of  the  Trial  Scene  her  womanhood 
asserts  itself  in  the  mischief,  fun,  frolic,  of  the  Ring 
Episode.    That  is  the  last  manifestation  of  her  girl- 
hood.  Later,  that  gives  way  to  the  loving  wife,  the 
accomplished   hostess,  welcoming  to  her  home   at 
Belmont  her  husband's  friend  Antonio,  the  lovers 
Gratiano  and  Nerissa,  Lorenzo  and  Jessica,  and  the 
young  friends  of  Bassanio.      She  is  the  dominating 
spirit  of  the  Catastrophe.    She  was  that  in  the  Trial 
Scene;  in  the  Episode  of  the  Rings;   in  her  own 
mansion  at  Belmont.   As  she  reveals  herself  in  these 
different  situations,  we  find  her  trained  in  the  prodi- 
gality of  nature.     In  her,  perfectly  balanced,  highly 
developed,  we  find  the  practical  and  the  imagina- 
tive, the  emotional  and  the  intellectual,  sweetness 
and  strength.     Over  all,  and  pervading  all,  is  that 
indefinable  but  unmistakable  quality  which  we  call 
charm.     She  is  an  example  of  radiant  womanhood. 
In  a  perfect  work  of  Art  all  the  factors  must  Com- 
plement and  Balance  each  other.     This  play  con- 
forms to  that  canon.  The  Catastrophe  Complements 
and  Balances  the  Introduction.     The  first  Scene  of 
the  play  is  at  Venice.     The  second  is  at  Belmont. 
The    Catastrophe  balances  this.     The  trial  is  held 
at  Venice.     The  last  Scene  of  the  play  is  at  Bel- 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  227 

mont.  At  the  beginning,  the  feeling  is  one  of  sad- 
ness: Antonio  was  sad;  Portia's  little  body  was 
aweary  of  this  great  world.  The  conclusion  of  the 
play  is  one  of  unalloyed  happiness:  Antonio's  life 
is  saved  ;  three  of  his  argosies  return  safely  to  port; 
the  three  pairs  of  lovers  are  happily  married.  Thus, 
the  end  Complements  and  Balances  the  beginning. 

In  this  play  human  affection  is  portrayed  in  its 
two  forms,  friendship,  love;  that  is,  affection  for 
one  of  the  same  sex,  affection  for  one  of  the  oppo- 
site sex.  The  friendship  between  Antonio  and 
Bassanio  reaches  the  highest  development.  The 
love  between  Bassanio  and  Portia  is  also  perfect  and 
complete.  By  a  master  stroke  of  the  dramatist, 
Antonio  is  the  means  by  which  the  latter  is  accom- 
plished. He  was  the  surety  for  the  loan  which  en- 
abled Bassanio  to  woo  and  win  Portia.  At  the  last 
he  is  again  the  surety  by  which  the  pretended  quar- 
rel between  Portia  and  Bassanio  about  the  rings  is 
amicably  settled.    Addressing  Portia,  Antonio  said: 

1  once  did  lend  my  body  for  his  wealth; 
Which,  but  for  him  that  had  your  husband's  ring, 
Had  quite  miscarried:   I  dare  be  bound  again, 
My  soul  upon  the  forfeit,  that  your  lord 
Will  never  more  break  faith  advisedly. 

Thus,  the  love  of  Bassanio  and  Portia  has  hinged 
on  the  friendship  between  Antonio  and  Bassanio. 
In  this  play  Shakespeare  has  portrayed  beautifully 
and  perfectly  human  affection  in  its  two  forms, 
friendship  and  love.    In  view  of  this,  how  exquisite 


228  Shakespeare's  Plots 

is  the  apostrophe  in  the  last  Act,  first  to  moonlight, 
secondly,  to  music: 

How  sweet  the  moonlight  sleeps  upon  this  bank!  seg. 

There  are  certain  latent  affinities  between  the  as- 
pects of  Nature  and  human  thought  and  emotion. 
"  Sunshine  is  associated  with  the  unfolding  of  na- 
ture's products,  the  physical  quickening  of  human 
life."  '  Night  under  some  of  its  aspects  is  associ- 
ated with  deeds  which  are  dark  and  tragic.  Mac- 
beth had  consummated  the  plan  for  the  murder  of 
Banquo  and  Fleance.  The  murderers  had  gone 
forth,  the  night  approaches.  Between  the  oncom- 
ing darkness  in  Nature  and  the  darkness  of  moral 
death  gathering  over  Macbeth  the  analogue  is  per- 
fect: 

Light  thickens,  and  the  crow 
Makes  wing  to  the  rooky  wood; 
Good  things  of  day  begin  to  droop  and  drowse. 

When  night  is  illumined  by  soft  moonlight,  it 
suggests  repose,  reflection,  the  tender  passion.  It 
was  on  such  a  night  as  this  that  Portia  and  Bas- 
sanio,  and  their  followers,  meet,  after  the  trial,  at 
Belmont.  When  Portia  reaches  there  she  hears 
music: 

Peace,  ho!  the  moon  sleeps  with  Endymion 
And  would  not  be  awaked. 

The  relevancy  and  beauty  of  Portia's  words  are 
realized  when  we  remember  that  in  Greek  mythol- 

1  Cf.  Brown,  The  Fine  Arts,  p.  156. 


The  Merchant  of  Venice  229 

ogy  Endymion  is  the  sunset  with  which  the  moon 
is  in  love. 

Equally   perfect    and    appropriate,    judged    from 
the   standpoint    of   dramatic   art,  is  Shakespeare's 
apostrophe,  in  this  Catastrophe,  to  music.     While 
Art  assumes  various  forms,  architecture,  sculpture, 
painting,  music,  poetry,  yet  its  ultimate  object  is 
the   same.     Notwithstanding    this   fact,    the    form 
assumed  by  it  is  an  important  factor.      And  each 
form,  be  it  the  marble  of  the  temple  or  the  statue, 
color  in  painting,  sound  in  music,  rhythmical  words 
in  poetry,  possesses  its  own  quality  of  beauty,  pro- 
duces its  own  impression  which  Is  distinct  in  kind. 
Each  appeals  to  the  imagination  tl"» rough  its  own 
channel  and  produces  an  effect  which  is  sui generis, 
— the  building,  an  architectural  charm;  the  statue, 
a   sculpturesque    charm ;    the   picture,    a    pictorial 
charm  ;  the  symphony,  a  musical  charm  ;  the  drama, 
a  poetic  charm.     Shakespeare  recognizes  this  canon 
of  Art,  and  while  he  uses  the  two  highest  forms  of 
Art,  music  and  poetry,  he  uses  them  always  with 
precision  and  strict  regard  to  the  nature  of  each. 
By  means  of    music  he   appeals    primarily  to   the 
emotions.     By    means    of    poetry    he    appeals   pri- 
marily to   the   imaginative   reason.      In    this  play 
he  introduces  a  love-song   whilst    Bassanio    stands 
before  the  caskets.     Again,  at  the  conclusion  of  the 
drama,  when  the  tragic  has  given  way  to  the  comic, 
when  hate   has  disappeared   and    love  resumes   its 
sway,  he  introduces  music. 

The   play  ends,  but  not   the   action.     The   last 
words  are  spoken  by  Portia: 


230  Shakespeare's  Plots 

It  is  almost  morning, 
And  yet  I  am  sure  you  are  not  satisfied 
Of  these  events  at  full.     Let  us  go  in; 
And  charge  us  there  upon  inter' gatories, 
And  we  will  answer  all  things  faithfully. 

Shakespeare  does  not  bring  the  action  to  a  con. 
elusion.  This  is  a  quality  of  great  Art.  It  is  the 
charm  of  the  incomplete.  It  satisfies  that  artistic 
craving  for  an  element  of  suggestion,  a  stimulus  to 
the  imagination.  It  is  what  Sir  Charles  Eastlake 
calls  "  the  judicious  unfinish  of  a  consummate  ar- 
tist." While  this  is  a  characteristic  of  Art  in  its 
various  forms,  it  applies  particularly  to  the  arts  of 
motion,  music  and  poetry.  In  this  quality  they  re- 
semble men.  Incompleteness  is  one  characteristic 
of  breathing,  growing,  living  men.  Great  Art,  there- 
fore, in  order  to  portray  human  life,  must  and  does 
have  a  quality  of  incompleteness.  Browning  ex- 
presses the  thought  perfectly : 

Growth  came  when  looking  your  last  on  them  all, 

You  turned  your  eyes  inwardly,  one  fine  day, 

And  cried  with  a  start — "  What  if  we,  so  small, 

Re  greater  and  grander  the  while  than  they  ? 

Are  they  perfect  of  lineament,  perfect  of  stature  ? 

In  both,  of  such  lower  types  are  we 

Precisely  because  of  our  wider  nature; 

For  time,  theirs — ours,  for  eternity. 

To-day's  brief  passion  limits  their  range, 

It  seethes  with  the  morrow  for  us  and  more. 

They  are  perfect — how  else  ?  they  shall  never  change: 

We  are  faulty — why  not  ?     We  have  time  in  store. 


The  Merchant  of  Venice         231 

The  Artificer's  hand  is  not  arrested 

With  us;  we  are  rough-hewn,  nowise  polished; 

They  stand  for  our  copy,  and,  once  invested 

With  all  they  can  teach,  we  shall  see  them  abolished."  ' 

The  play  reaches  a  conclusion;  the  action,  how- 
ever, does  not  end.  Like  human  life,  of  which  it  is 
a  portrayal,  it  is  incomplete,  imperfect,  and  there- 
fore great  and  enduring  Art,  for  "what  's  come  to 
perfection  perishes."  When  the  play  concludes  we 
find  ourselves  gazing,  with  a  vague  and  wistful 
speculation,  into  the  open  door  of  that  mansion  at 
Belmont  through  which  Portia  and  her  friends  have 
entered ;  and  longing  to  hear  Portia,  upon  inter  ga- 
torus,     .     .     .     answer  all  things  faithfully. 

1  Old  Pictures  in  Florence. 


CHAPTER  V 

JULIUS  C^SAR 

INTRODUCTION 


NEARLY  every  fact  mentioned  in  this  play  is 
taken  by  Shakespeare  from  Plutarch.  Plu- 
tarch's  record  of  them  is  a  history;  Shakespeare's  is 
a  drama.  Wherein  is  the  difference  between  these 
two  forms  of  literary  composition  ?  A  history  is  a 
narration  of  events;  a  drama  is  a  representation  of 
events  by  means  of  action.  Plutarch  tells  us  about 
the  conspiracy  which  resulted  in  the  death  of  Julius 
Caesar.  Shakespeare  puts  the  conspirators  on  the 
stage ;  we  hear  them  speak ;  we  see  them  act. 

This,  however,  is  not  the  only  difference  between 
a  history  and  a  drama.  They  differ  not  only  in 
form,  but  also  in  nature. 

History  and  Poetry  [says  Aristotle]  are  distinguished 
herein,  that  the  one  relates  what  has  occurred,  the  other 
relates  of  what  nature  the  occurrence  has  been.  .  .  . 
Poetry  refers  to  the  general,  and  history  to  the  particu- 
lar. The  general  is  how  such  and  such  a  man  would 
speak  or  act  according  to  probability  or  necessity.  .  .  . 

232 


Julius  Caesar  233 

The  particular,  on  the  contrary,  is  what  Alcibiades  has 
done  or  suffered.1 

Dramatic  poetry  is  not  actual  but  imaginative 
truth.  It  appeals  not  so  much  to  the  intellect  as  to 
the  imagination;  to  the  imaginative  reason;  to  the 
intellectual  emotions.  Poets  are  the  ideal  interpre- 
ters of  life.  Shakespeare  adds  to  Plutarch's  facts  a 
subtle,  indefinable  ideality.  After  Claudio  had 
cruelly  slandered  Hero  and  then  deserted  her  at  the 
marriage  altar,  Friar  Francis  advised  that  she  be 
hidden,  and  a  notice  of  her  death  published.  The 
effect  of  this,  he  said,  would  be: 

When  [Claudio]  shall  hear  she  died  upon  his  words, 

The  idea  of  her  life  shall  sweetly  creep 

Into  his  study  of  imagination, 

And  every  lovely  organ  of  her  life 

Shall  come  apparelVd  in  more  precious  habit, 

More  moving-delicate  and  full  of  life, 

Into  the  eye  and  prospect  of  his  soul, 

Than  when  she  lived  indeed. 

In  these  words,  which  are  the  very  highest  reach 
of  imaginative  poetry,  Shakespeare  describes  his 
own  work  in  this  drama.  By  his  vivifying  imagina- 
tion he  resurrects  these  men. 

.     .     .     graves  at  [his]  command 

Have  waked  their  sleepers,  oped,  and  let  'em  forth 

By  [his]  so  potent  art. 

He  recreates  them.     He  reveals  to  us  the  idea, 

1  Poetics,  section  ix.;  ef.  Bacon,  Advancement  of  Learning,  Book 
II.,  chap,  iv.,  pp.  I,  2;  Newman,  Aristotle's  Poetics,  section  4. 


234  Shakespeare's  Plots 

f,  e.,  the  image,  of  their  lives,  and  this  he  does  so 
perfectly  that  we  perceive  not  so  much  the  body  as 
the  mind  and  spirit.  Not  to  the  naked  eye,  but  to 
the  eye  of  the  mind  are  revealed  the  thoughts,  emo- 
tions, intentions;  the  conflict  between  blood  and 
judgement ;  the  subtle  interflow  of  good  and  evil ;  in 
a  word,  all  those  powerful,  though  silent  and  invis- 
ible, forces  which  constituted  the  springs  of  action 
in  each  of  these  men.  As  a  result,  every  organ  of 
their  lives  is  disclosed,  and  Brutus,  Cassius,  Caesar, 
Antony,  and  the  others  appear  before  us  not  as 
shades  of  the  departed,  but  as  living  men. 

Of  course,  this  idealism  of  the  poet  must  be 
founded  on  realism.  He  must  possess  imaginative 
verity.'  He  must  see  into  the  very  heart  of  heart  of 
a  man  or  woman,  and  in  his  drama  portray  that  man 
or  woman  with  perfect  truthfulness.  Shakespeare 
would  have  erred  if  he  had  ascribed  to  Portia  the 
morals  of  Cleopatra,  or  to  Brutus  the  baseness  of 
Iago.  At  the  same  time  historical  accuracy  in  every 
minor  detail  is  not  a  requisite  of  a  great  drama. 
Sciolists  speak  of  Shakespeare's  incorrect  history. 
By  so  doing  they  manifest  ignorance  of  the  nature 

1  "  I  know  full  well  that  the  sentiments  in  a  drama  must  be  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  assumed  character  of  the  person  who  utters  them. 
They  can  therefore  not  bear  the  stamp  of  absolute  truth;  it  is  enough 
if  they  are  poetically  true,  if  we  must  admit  that  this  character  under 
these  circumstances,  with  these  passions,  could  not  have  judged 
otherwise.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  this  poetical  truth  must  also 
approach  to  the  absolute,  and  the  poet  must  never  think  so  unphilo- 
sophically  as  to  assume  that  a  man  could  desire  evil  for  evil's  sake, 
that  a  man  could  act  on  vicious  principles,  knowing  them  to  be 
vicious,  and  boast  of  them  to  himself  and  to  others." — Lessing, 
Dramatic  Notes. 


Julius  Cesar  235 

of  a  historical  drama,  and  also  their  lack  of  the  criti- 
cal faculty.  Such,  in  the  words  of  Sir  William 
Davenant,'  "  take  away  the  liberty  of  the  Poet,  and 
fetter  his  feet  in  the  shackles  of  the  Historian." 
Shakespeare  did  not,  nor  was  it  necessary  that 
he  should,  follow  history  literally. 

Into  Brutus'  mouth  he  puts  these  words: 

My  ancestors  did  from  the  streets  of  Rome 
The  Tarquin  drive,  when  he  was  call'd  a  king. 

This  is  not  historically  correct.  Brutus  was  not 
of  that  family.  "Brutus,  who  expelled  the  Tar- 
quins,"  says  Froude,'  "  put  his  sons  to  death,  and 
died  childless;  Marcus  Brutus  came  of  good  ple- 
beian family,  with  no  glories  of  tyrannicide  about 
them  ;  but  an  imaginary  genealogy  suited  well  with 
the  spurious  heroics  which  veiled  the  motives  of 
Ca-'sar's  murderers." 

Plutarch  says  Caesar  was  stabbed  twenty-three 
times.  Shakespeare  speaks  of  Cresar's  three  and 
thirty  wounds.  As  a  matter  of  history  Caesar  never 
uttered  ihe  words  Et  tu  Brute  !  They  Were  origi- 
nal with  Shakespeare.  The  latter  was  not  a  his- 
torian, but  a  poet.  He  knew  that  if  Caesar,  when 
he  saw  his  trusted  friend  Brutus  raise  the  dagger, 
had  expressed  his  thoughts  and  feelings,  it  would 
have  been  in  such  words  as  Et  tu  Brute  /  For,  as 
Antony  in  his  speech  said: 

.     .     .     when  the  noble  Caesar  saw  him  stab, 
Ingratitude,  more  strong  than  traitors'  arms, 
Quite  vanquish'd  him. 
1  Preface  to  Gondibert.  •  Casar,  p.  507. 


236  Shakespeare's  Plots 

These  words,  therefore,  while  not  historically,  are 
poetically  true.' 

I  have  descanted  somewhat  at  length  upon  the 
difference  between  a  history  and  a  drama,  because 
that  difference  is  essential,  and  must  always  be 
borne  in  mind  by  the  critical  student.  A  knowledge 
of  that  difference  guards  against  an  incorrect  method 
of  studying  a  historical  drama.  It  must  be  studied, 
not  as  history,  not  with  reference  to  the  correctness 
or  incorrectness  of  its  statements,  but  as  a  drama. 
To  do  the  former  is  entirely  to  misconceive  the  in- 
tention of  the  poet,  and,  as  a  consequence,  to  fail 
utterly  in  comprehending  and  appreciating  the 
poem.  It  is  a  mistake  similar  to  that  pointed  out 
so  long  ago  by  Plutarch":  "He  that  goes  about  to 
split  wood  with  a  key,  and  to  unlock  a  door  with 
an  axe,  does  not  so  much  misemploy  his  instru- 
ments, as  deprive  himself  of  the  proper  use  of  both. " 

Human  life  is  dominated  by  two  great  forces, 
Free-will,  Fate.  Both  these  forces  are  referred  to 
in  this  drama.  Cassius  alludes  to  the  former  when, 
in  his  first  conversation  with  Brutus,  he  said: 

Men  at  some  time  are  masters  of  their  fates: 
The  fault,  dear  Brutus,  is  not  in  our  stars, 
But  in  ourselves,  that  we  are  underlings. 

Caesar  refers  to  the  latter;    vis,,    Fate,   overruling 
Providence,  when  he  asks  Calpurnia: 

1  "  Truth,  narrative  and  past,  is  the  idol  of  historians  (who  wor- 
ship a  dead  thing),  and  truth,  operative  and  by  its  effects  continually 
alive,  is  the  mistress  of  poets,  who  hath  not  her  existence  in  matter, 
but  in  reason." — Sir  Win.  Davenant,  Preface  to  Gondibert. 

1  Morals  ;  Of  Hearing. 


Julius  Caesar  237 

What  can  be  avoided 

Whose  end  is  purposed  by  the  mighty  gods  ? 

Shakespeare  has  written  tragedies  portraying  both 
these  phases  of  human  life.  In  this  play  it  is  the 
latter  which  he  depicts.  Caesar  is  not  the  direct 
cause  of  his  own  death.  In  this  drama  he  is  not 
active,  but  passive.  Forces  outside  of  himself  bring 
the  action  to  a  Climax.  Other  forces,  still  outside 
of  himself,  carry  the  action  forward  to  the  Catas- 
trophe. While  he  is  the  cause  of  the  action,  he  is 
such  not  as  doing  anything  in  the  drama,  not  as  an 
actor  therein,  but  as  representing  a  sentiment,  em- 
bodying a  principle,  viz.,  Imperialism.  While  living 
he  is  the  passive  cause  of  the  conspiracy ;  when  dead, 
he  is  the  equally  passive  cause  of  the  retribution. 
It  is  his  wounds, 

Which,  like  dumb  mouths,  do  ope  their  ruby  lips, 
•    To  beg  the  voice  and  utterance  of  my  tongue, 

that  caused  Antony  to  speak.     It  is  his 

.     ,     .     wounds,  poor  poor  dumb  mouths, 

which  had  power  to 

,      .    .     move 
The  stones  of  Rome  to  rise  and  mutiny, 

that  demand  vengeance. 

A  third  characteristic  of  this  play,  wherein  it 
differs  from  most  others  is,  no  one  person  dominates 
it.  The  action  centres  around  Julius  Caesar.  He, 
however,  is  passive.     The  fore  part,  all  preceding 


238  •  Shakespeare's  Plots 

the  Climax,  is  dominated  by  the  conspirators.  Of 
these,  at  the  beginning,  Cassius  is  the  leader.  He 
soon  gives  way  to  Brutus,  who  becomes  the  master- 
spirit. The  after  part,  all  following  the  Climax,  is 
dominated  by  the  avengers,  of  whom  Antony  is 
the  controlling  personality.  But  no  one  person 
dominates  the  action  of  this  play  from  beginning  to 
end,  as  did  Henry  V.,  Richard  III.,  Coriolanus. 
Hamlet,  in  the  plays  bearing  those  names.  This 
drama,  unlike  those,  is  not  a  delineation  of  a  per- 
son, but  of  a  principle.  It  describes  not  so  much 
the  fortunes  of  Caisar  as  it  does  the  conflict  between 
Republicanism  and  Imperialism.  True,  Antony 
said, 

All  the  conspirators,  save  only  he  [llrutus], 
Did  that  they  did  in  envy  of  great  Ccesar: 

This  opinion  is  questionable.  But  whether  Antony 
was  correct  or  incorrect,  of  one  fact  there  is  no 
doubt,  viz.,  the  avowed  and  ostensible  motive 
which  governed  the  conspirators  in  assassinating 
Caesar  was  not  dislike  of  him  personally,  but  the 
belief  that  he  embodied  a  principle  which  threat- 
ened the  life  of  the  Republic.  As  the  play  pro- 
ceeds, this  idea  is  iterated  and  reiterated.  This  was 
the  final  consideration  which  induced  Brutus  to  join 
the  conspirators.  He  reiterated  this  opinion  in  his 
first  conference  with  them.  He  expressed  regret 
that  in  order  to  destroy  the  principle  which,  as  he 
thought,  Ca_-sar  embodied,  it  was  necessary  to  kill 
Caesar.  After  the  murder  he  told  Antony  the 
motive  which  led  him  to  stab  his  Criend  was 


Julius  Caesar  239 

,     .     .     pity  to  the  general  wrong  of  Rome. 

It  was  the  one  reason  which  Brutus  gave  to  the 
citizens  for  the  justification  of  the  assassination. 
The  motive  which  governed  him,  and  which  was 
announced  as  the  motive  of  all,  was  a  desire  to  save 
the  Republic: 

I  slew  my  best  lover  for  the  good  of  Rome. 

Caesar's  spirit,  as  the  expression  of  treason  against 
the  Republic,  was  the  cause  and  object  of  the 
attack. 

As  Caesar's  spirit  was  the  cause  of  the  action.so 
was  it  also  of  the  reaction.  It  caused  the  conspir- 
acy which  culminated  in  the  assassination.  It  like- 
wise caused  the  retribution  which  brought  to 
Cassius  and  Brutus  defeat  and  death.  As  Antony 
stood  over  Caesar's  mangled  body,  apostrophizing 
it  as 

.     .     .     thou  bleeding  piece  of  earth, 

he  said  the  consequence  of  the  murder  would  be: 

A  curse  shall  light  upon  the  limbs  of  men; 
Domestic  fury  and  fierce  civil  strife 
Shall  cumber  all  the  parts  of  Italy; 

And  Caesar's  spirit,  ranging  for  revenge, 
With  Ate  by  his  side  come  hot  from  hell, 
Shall  in  these  confines  with  a  monarch's  voice, 
Cry  "  Havoc,"  and  let  slip  the  dogs  of  war: 

Antony  was  correct. 


240  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Nor  did  Caesar's  spirit  cease  to  range  for  revenge 
until  it  brought  death  to  Brutus  and  Cassius.  At 
the  close  of  the  battle  of  Philippi,  just  previous  to 
committing  suicide,  Brutus  said: 

O  Julius  Coesar,  thou  art  mighty  yet! 

Thy  spirit  walks  abroad,  and  turns  our  swords 

In  our  own  proper  entrails. 

As  I  have  previously  said,  no  one  man  dominates 
this  play.  It  does  not  treat  of  Julius  Caesar  as  an 
individual;  it  does  not  dramatize  his  personal  life 
and  fortunes.  It  treats  of  him  only  so  far  as  he  is 
the  embodiment  of  a  principle,  viz.,  Imperialism. 
The  conspirators  likewise  are  portrayed  not  as  in- 
dividuals, but  as  personifying,  individually  and 
collectively,  the  counter  principle,  viz.,  Republi- 
canism. The  unity  of  the  drama  is  not  in  a  person 
but  in  the  action.  That  action  relates  to  the  con- 
spiracy, its  formation,  its  culmination,  its  conse- 
quence; the  avowed  object  of  which  conspiracy 
was,  by  killing  Caesar,  to  preserve  to  the  Roman 
people 

Peace,  freedom  and  liberty! 

In  conclusion,  this  play  is  unlike  most  of  the 
Shakesperian  dramas  in  that  it  is  simple.  I  use  the 
word  in  its  original  sense  (Latin  simplex,  not  com- 
plicated). The  action  of  the  drama  is  not  involved. 
There  are  no  Sub-Actions.  There  are  several  Epi- 
sodes. These  are  very  brief,  and  of  minor  import- 
ance. The  movement  from  beginning  to  end 
consists  almost  wholly  of  the  Main  Action.     That 


Julius  Caesar  241 

moves  steadily  upwards  to  the  Climax.  From  there 
it  advances,  almost  without  interruption,  to  the 
Catastrophe. 

The  conflict  between  the  two  principles,  Imperial- 
ism and  Republicanism's  the  theme  of  the  drama. 
This  is  technically  the  Central  Idea.  It  will  be 
found,  as  we  proceed  with  the  study,  that  every 
character,  every  deed,  every  word,  in  the  play  is 
related  to  this  idea.  This  is  the  key-note  of  the 
action,  and  this  key-note  is  struck  in  the  opening 
Scene  of  the  Introduction. 

This  is  done,  not  by  means  of  a  conversation,  as 
in  the  Merchant  of  Venice  ;  or  of  a  narration,  as  in 
Othello  ox  Hamlet ;  but  by  an  action.  This  action 
is  not  the  Main  Action  of  the  drama.  It  introduces 
and  foreshadows  that. 

This  opening  Scene  presents  to  us  Flavius  and 
Marullus,  Tribunes,  and  a  rabble  of  Citizens.  Be- 
tween the  former  and  the  latter  there  is  a  war  of 
words;  on  the  part  of  the  citizens,  good-natured, 
humorous;  on  the  part  of  the  Tribunes,  serious. 
By  means  of  this  dispute  Shakespeare  begins  the 
play,  and  foreshadows  the  tragic  conflict  which 
forms  its  Main  Action. 

The  drama  derives  distinction  both  from  the 
place  and  time  of  the  action. 

We  are  learning  that  European  history,  from  its  first 
glimmerings  to  our  own  day,  is  one  unbroken  drama,  no 
part  of  which  can  be  rightly  understood  without  reference 
to  the  other  parts  which  come  before  and  after  it.  We 
are  learning  that  of  this  great  drama  Rome  is  the  centre, 

»6 


242  Shakespeare's  Plots 

the  point  to  which  all  roads  lead,  and  from  which  all 
roads  lead  no  less.  The  world  of  independent  Greece 
stands  on  one  side  of  it;  the  world  of  modern  Europe 
stands  on  another.1 

The  time  was  one  of  the  most  important  epochs  in 
the  history  of  the  Roman  people.  To  this  city, 
after  his  victory  at  Munda,  Julius  Caesar  was  return- 
ing. The  common  people  had  gathered  in  the 
streets  to  make  holiday  to  see  Ccesar,  and  to  rejoice  in 
his  triumph.  They  had  decked  his  images  with 
festal  ornaments;  had  hung  on  them  trophies.  The 
Tribunes,  seeing  in  this  popular  worship  of  Caesar 
danger  to  the  Republic,  attempted  tocheck  the  mob. 

Wherefore  rejoice  ?     What  conquest  brings  he  home  ? 

What  tributaries  follow  him  to  Rome, 

To  grace  in  captive  bonds  his  chariot-wheels  ?  seq. 

This  rebuke  of  Marullus  is  re-enforced  by  the 
gentler  counsel  of  Flavius. 

The  danger  to  the  Republic  exists  not  only  in 
the  fickleness  and  thoughtlessness  of  the  fool  multi- 
tude, but  also  in  the  character  of  Julius  Caesar. 
Shakespeare  closes  the  Scene  by  an  intimation  of 
that.     Flavius  says: 

These  growing  feathers  pluck'd  from  Caesar's  wing 
Will  make  him  fly  an  ordinary  pitch, 
Who  else  would  soar  above  the  view  of  men 
And  keep  us  all  in  servile  fearfulness. 

The  very  best  commentary  on  this  opening  Scene 
is  the  words  of  Cassius,  uttered  a  little  later: 

1  Freeman,  Unity  of  History, 


Julius  Caesar  243 

Those  that  with  haste  will  make  a  mighty  fire 
Begin  it  with  weak  straws:  what  trash  is  Rome, 
What  rubbish  and  what  offal,  when  it  serves 
For  the  base  matter  to  illuminate 
So  vile  a  thing  as  Caesar! 

This  Scene  is  immediately  followed  by  the  en- 
trance of  Caesar.  He  appears  in  procession  rvith 
Music,  and  is  accompanied  by  a  great  crowd,  in 
which  is  a  Soothsayer.  Caesar  speaks.  Casca,  with 
the  utmost  deference,  orders  silence.  Caesar  com- 
mands Calpurnia  to  stand  in  Antonius'  way.  He 
also  commands  Antonius  to  touch  Calpurnia.  An- 
tony acknowledges  Caesar's  supreme  power: 

When  Caesar  says  "do  this,"  it  is  perform'd. 

Caesar  is  about  to  retire  when  the  Soothsayer  bids 
him  Beivare  the  ides  of  March.  With  the  irony  of 
fate,  this  warning  is  repeated  by  Brutus.  It  is 
reiterated  by  the  Soothsayer.  Then  Caesar,  refus- 
ing to  heed  it, — 

He  is  a  dreamer;  let  us  leave  him, — 

passes  off  the  stage,  accompanied  by  all  except 
Brutus  and  Cassius. 

In  this  first  and  brief  glimpse  of  Caesar,  Shake- 
speare has  emphasized  Caesar's  commanding  author- 
ity, and  also  the  acknowledgment  of  the  same  by 
Antony  and  the  mob.  These  are  the  two  dangers 
which  threaten  the  Republic. 

Caesar,  the  victim,  Antony,  his  friend  and  aven- 
ger,    have    been    introduced.       Shakespeare    now 


244  Shakespeare's  Plots 

brings  forward.  Brutus  and  Cassius,  the  leaders  of 
the  conspiracy.  In  the  conference  which  follows, 
the  characters  of  these  two  men  are  revealed,  and 
as  well  their  conception  of  the  character  of  Caesar; 
also,  the  first  efforts  are  made  for  the  formation  of 
the  conspiracy.  It  is  to  be  noted  that  the  first 
suggestion  to  this  end  comes  from  Cassius.  He,  at 
the  beginning,  is  the  dominating  force  of  the  con- 
spiracy. 

The  danger  which  threatens  the  Republic  had 
hardly  been  referred  to  by  Cassius,  when  his  words 
are  emphasized  by  a  Flourish,  and  shout.  In  re- 
sponse Brutus  says: 

What  means  this  shouting  ?     I  do  fear,  the  people 
Choose  Caesar  for  their  king. 

The  appeal  to  Brutus'  patriotism  is  not  in  vain. 

Ay,  do  you  fear  it  ? 

Then  must  I  think  you  would  not  have  it  so. 

Brutus  responds: 

I  would  not,  Cassius;  yet  I  love  him  well. 
But  wherefore  do  you  hold  me  here  so  long  ? 
What  is  it  that  you  would  impart  to  me  ? 
If  it  be  aught  toward  the  general  good, 
Set  honour  in  one  eye  and  death  i'  the  other, 
And  I  will  look  on  both  indifferently. 

Cassius  then  begins  the  recital  of  that  story,  the 
subject  of  which  is  honour.  He  proceeds  to  de- 
scribe Caesar  as  but  a  man,  subject  to  the  same 
frailties    as    others.     Once,    when    swimming   the 


Julius  Caesar  245 

Tiber,  he  was  on  the  point  of  drowning,  and  cried, 
Help  me,  Cassias,  or  I  sink.     Another  time 

He  had  a  fever  when  he  was  in  Spain. 

Cassius  then  speaks  of  his  name,  and  compares  it 
with  that  of  Brutus. 

Why  should  that  name  be  sounded  more  than  yours?  seq. 
Such  is  Cassius'  description  of  the  man  who 

.     .     .     doth  bestride  the  narrow  world 
Like  a  Colossus. 

Cassius'  words  are  not  without  effect.  What  that 
effect  is  Brutus  himself  tells  us: 

Brutus  had  rather  be  a  villager 
Than  to  repute  himself  a  son  of  Rome 
Under  these  hard  conditions  as  this  time 
Is  like  to  lay  upon  us. 

Caesar  and  his  train  returning  from  the  games  now 
re-enter.  Brutus  observes,  and  calls  Cassius'  at- 
tention to — 

The  angry  spot  doth  giow  on  Caesar's  brow, 
And  all  the  rest  look  like  a  chidden  train. 

Shakespeare  for  a  moment  now  directs  attention 
from  Caesar  to  Cassius,  at  this  time  the  most  active 
of  the  conspirators.  With  fine  foreshadowing  he 
puts  in  Caesar's  mouth  this  description  of  Cassius: 

Yond  Cassius  has  a  lean  and  hungry  look; 
He  thinks  too  much:  such  men  are  dangerous. 


246  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Antony,  lacking  Caesar's  insight  and  foresight,  and 
in  order  to  repress  any  fear  in  Caesar,  replies: 

Fear  him  not,  Caesar;  he  's  not  dangerous. 

Caesar  responds  by  a  fine  analysis  of  Cassius'  char- 
acter, and  resents  any  imputation  of  cowardice. 

I  rather  tell  thee  what  is  to  be  fear'd 
Than  what  I  fear;  for  always  I  am  Caesar. 

And  then,  with  one  of  those  minor  touches  indica- 
ting the  finest  artistic  sense,  Shakespeare  makes 
Caesar  refer  to  one  of  his  physical  infirmities.  He 
says  to  Antony : 

Come  on  my  right  hand,  for  this  ear  is  deaf. 

Caesar  and  his  train  make  their  exit,  not  to  appear 
again  in  the  Introduction. 

Casca  then  relates  to  Brutus  and  Cassius  what 
had  taken  place.  Three  times  Antony  offered 
Caesar  a  crown.  Each  time  Caesar  had  refused  it. 
Then  Caesar  swooned.  To  this  Casca  adds,  once 
more  striking  the  chord  of  Caesar's  dangerous 
ambition, 

I  could  tell  you  more  news  too:  Marullus  and  Flavius, 
for  pulling  scarfs  off  Caesar's  images,  are  put  to  silence. 

Casca  now  retires,  to  be  followed  soon  by  Brutus, 
into  whose  ears  Cassius  speaks  this  parting  injunc- 
tion, think  of  the  world*  Brutus,  although  pro- 
foundly stirred  by  Cassius,  has  not  yet  been  entirely 
won  over.  The  latter  determines  to  make  one  final 
effort,  of  the  success  of  which  he  has  no  doubt: 


Julius  Caesar  247 

I  will  this  night, 
In  several  hands,  in  at  his  windows  throw, 
As  if  they  came  from  several  citizens, 
Writings  all  tending  to  the  great  opinion 
That  Rome  holds  of  his  name;  seq. 

Shakespeare's  portrait  of  Caesar  in  this  second 
Scene  of  the  Introduction  seems  to  many  surpris- 
ing, inexplicable.  Probably  no  other  historical 
character  is  so  frequently  mentioned  by  Shake- 
speare as  Julius  Caesar.  He  is  referred  to  in  twelve 
plays.  Between  the  two  men  there  seems  to  have 
been  the  strongest  intellectual  affinity.  Shakespeare 
was  cognizant  of,  appreciated  fully,  Caesar's  great- 
ness. In  Hamlet  he  describes  him  as  the  mightiest 
Julius,  and  again,  as  Imperial  Cczsar.  Later  in  this 
play,  he  is  similarly  described  by  Antony  as 

The  noblest  man 

That  ever  lived  in  the  tide  of  times. 

Why,  then,  in  this  Introduction  does  Shakespeare 
describe  him  as 

A  man  of  such  a  feeble  temper? 

In  a  great  drama  no  more,  no  other,  elements  of  a 
character  are  portrayed  than  those  which  are  evoked 
by,  are  in  vital  connection  with,  the  action  of  the 
drama.  This  is  true  of  a  play  as  a  whole,  and  also 
of  the  different  parts.  The  subject  of  this  play  is 
not,  as  one  might  infer  from  the  title,  Julius  Caesar. 
In  fact,  he  is  not  even  the  leading  character  in  the 
play. 


24**  Shakespeare's  Plots 

To  digress  for  a  moment.  Amongst  other  proofs 
of  that  is  the  scale  of  delineation.  In  the  play 
there  are  2417  verses.  Of  these  Brutus  speaks  727, 
Cassius  507,  these  two  aggregating  1234,  or  more 
than  half.  Antony  speaks  327,  Octavius  Caesar  47, 
while  Julius  Caesar  speaks  but  154  verses.  The  scale 
of  delineation  is  not  the  only  test  as  to  the  impor- 
tance of  a  dramatic  character.  Still  it  is  one,  and 
must  be  considered  by  the  critical  student. 

Julius  Caesar  was  not  the  principal  actor  in  this 
drama.  Brutus  occupies  that  position.  Julius 
Caesar  as  a  great  statesman,  writer,  general,  is 
hardly  referred  to.  Those  attributes  of  his  charac- 
ter are  outside  of,  extraneous  to,  the  scope  of  this 
action.  His  connection  with  this  play  is  simply 
that  of  an  unpatriotic  and  ambitious  man  grasping 
at  power.  Such  was  the  conception  of  him  which 
the  conspirators  had.  It  was  to  destroy  such  a 
man,  and  thus  save  the  Republic,  that  the  conspir- 
acy was  formed.  Hence  the  dramatist,  in  order, 
ostensibly,  to  induce  Brutus  to  join  the  conspiracy, 
really,  to  enlist  the  sympathies  of  the  audience  for 
the  conspirators,  and  to  afford  some  justification  for 
them,  makes  Cassius  in  this  Introduction  describe 
Caesar  as  but  a  man;  a  man  physically  weak,  men- 
tally vacillating,  and  at  the  same  time  governed  by 
an  ambition  both  overmastering  and  dangerous. 
This  result,  so  far  as  it  affects  the  spectator,  is  in- 
tensified by  Shakespeare  making  Caesar  himself 
speak  of  his  deafness;  and  still  more  by  Caesar's 
swooning  when  the  crown  was  offered  to  him. 
Thus  by  such  portrayal  of  Caesar,  as  a  physically 


Julius  Caesar  249 

weak  and  withal  dangerous  man,  Shakespeare  gives 
some  justification  for  the  assassination,  and  brings 
us  into  sympathy  with  the  conspirators. 

In  Scene  2  the  poet  appeals  wholly  to  the  intel- 
lect. The  reference  to  Caesar's  weakness  is  not  for 
the  purpose  of  awakening  sympathy  for  him  but, 
by  making  manifest  the  incongruity  between  such  a 
man  and  the  position  to  which  he  aspires,  to  give 
a  reason  for  the  conspiracy.  If  the  spectator's  in- 
terest is  to  be  perfectly,  wholly  enlisted,  both  in- 
tellect and  emotions  must  be  profoundly  stirred. 
This  Shakespeare  does  in  the  third  and  last  Scene 
of  the  Introduction  by  calling  Nature  and  the 
supernatural  to  his  assistance.  He  uses  them  as  a 
background  for  human  thought  and  emotion.1  The 
murderous  deed  is  heralded  by  disturbances  in 
Nature. 

In  ancient  times,  as  well  as  in  our  day,  the  ele- 
ments were  believed  to  be  in  very  close  sympathy 
with  human  joy  or  sorrow.  It  was  believed  that 
Nature,  both  animate  and  inanimate,  was  pro- 
foundly disturbed  by  impending  disaster.  The 
violent  deaths  of  kings  and  rulers  were  supposed 
to  be  preceded  by  perturbations  of  Nature. 

Thou  see'st  the  heavens,  as  troubled  with  man's  act, 
Threaten  his  bloody  stage. 

This  is  but  one  of  many  references  by  Shake- 
speare to  this  superstition. 

1  "  To  the  poet  ...  all  nature  appears  to  be,  in  a  peculiar 
sense,  a  representation,  a  repetition,  a  projection  in  the  realm  of 
matter,  of  the  immaterial  processes  of  thought  within  the  mind."— 
Wordsworth,  Tintern  Abbty. 


250  Shakespeare's  Plots 

This  Scene  opens  with  thunder  and  lightning. 
The  environment  is  in  perfect  harmony  with  the 
action.  Nature,  stormy,  threatening,  filled  with 
prodigies,  forms  a  sombre  background  to  the  im- 
pending tragedy.  Cicero  and  Casca  enter.  From, 
these  commotions  in  Nature  Casca  infers: 

Either  there  is  a  civil  strife  in  heaven, 

Or  else  the  world,  too  saucy  with    the  gods, 

Incenses  them  to  send  destruction. 

Civil  strife,  not  in  heaven,  but  in  Rome,  is  that 
which  is  foreshadowed.  Casca  relates  other  un- 
natural occurrences,  and  then  concludes: 

When  these  prodigies 
Do  so  conjointly  meet,  let  not  men  say 
"  These  are  their  reasons;  they  are  natural  "; 
For,  I  believe,  they  are  portentous  things 
Unto  the  climate  that  they  point  upon. 

In  order  to  keep  Caesar  before  the  spectator,  and 
to  bring  him  into  close  relation  to  these  prodigies, 
Cicero  asks : 

Comes  Caesar  to  the  Capitol  to-morrow  ? 

Cicero,  who  is  but  a  passive  spectator,  not  an  actor, 
in  this  drama,  now  retires  and  Cassius  enters.  Be- 
tween perturbed  Nature  and  his  agitated  mind 
there  is  the  warmest  sympathy.  In  response  to 
Casca's  question,  What  night  is  this  ?  he  replies: 

A  very  pleasing  night  to  honest  mea 


Julius  Caesar  251 

So  pleasing,  indeed,  so  expressive  of  the  rebellion 
within  him,  that  he 

.     .     .     bar'd  [his]  bosom  to  the  thunder-stone; 
And  when  the  cross  blue  lightning  seem'd  to  open 
The  breast  of  heaven,  I  did  present  myself 
Even  in  the  aim  and  very  flash  of  it. 

Further,  he  sees  and  heavs  in  these  dreadful  heralds, 
sent  by  the  mighty  gods: 

.     .     .     instruments  of  fear  and  warning 
Unto  some  monstrous  state. 

He  then  compares  a  man  to  this  dreadful  night, 
and  says  he  is  fearful,  as  these  strange  eruptions  are. 
Casca  guesses  correctly.  Caesar  is  the  man.  Casca 
then  proceeds: 

Indeed,  they  say  the  senators  to-morrow 
Mean  to  establish  Csesar  as  a  king; 
And  he  shall  wear  his  crown  by  sea  and  land, 
In  every  place,  save  here  in  Italy. 

Cassius  suggests  two  ways  by  which  Romans  may 
preserve  their  freedom :  either  suicide  or  armed  re- 
sistance.  He  finds  Casca  responsive  to  the  latter. 
Without  further  delay,  or  attempt  at  secrecy,  Cas- 
sius openly  announces  the  formation  of  the  con- 
spiracy. 

There  's  a  bargain  made:  seq. 

Cinna,  one  of  the  conspirators,  now  appears.  He 
informs  Cassius  that  Decius  Brutus  and  Trebonius 


252  Shakespeare's  Plots 

have  repaired  to  Pompey's  porch,  and  that  Metellus 
Cimber  has  gone  to  seek  him  at  the  latter's  house. 
Brutus  still  hesitates.  Not  yet  has  he  unreservedly 
and  formally  joined  the  conspiracy.     As  to 

Him  and  his  worth  and  our  great  need  of  him, 

there  is  unanimity  of  sentiment.     Cinna  says: 

O  Cassias,  if  you  could 

But  win  the  noble  Brutus  to  our  party. 

And  later: 

O,  he  sits  high  in  all  the  people's  hearts: 
And  that  which  would  appear  offence  in  us, 
His  countenance,  like  richest  alchemy, 
Will  change  to  virtue  and  to  worthiness. 

Cassius  has  previously  said : 

.     .     .     three  parts  of  him 
Is  ours  already,  and  the  man  entire 
Upon  the  next  encounter  yields  him  ours. 

And  so  he  does.     When  Brutus  again  appears  he 
has  decided  to  join  the  conspiracy. 

GROWTH 

II.,    I,   2 

//  must  be  by  his  death  :  These  words  of  Brutus 
are  the  dividing  line  between  the  Introduction  and 
the  Growth.  The  last  words  uttered  by  Brutus  in 
the  Introduction  had  been  to  Cassius: 


Julius  Caesar  253 

For  this  time  I  will  leave  you: 
To-morrow,  if  you  please  to  speak  with  me, 
I  will  come  home  to  you;  or,  if  you  will, 
Come  home  to  me,  and  I  will  wait  for  you. 

Cassius  responds: 

I  will  do  so:  till  then,  think  of  the  world. 

Brutus  then  makes  his  exit,  not  to  appear  again  in 
the  Introduction.  At  that  time  he  had  reached  no 
definite  decision  in  reference  to  the  conspiracy. 
When  he  first  appears  in  the  Growth  he  has  fully 
determined  that  Caesar  must  die.  He  joins  the 
conspiracy,  and  shortly  thereafter  the  Main  Action 
of  the  drama  begins. 

The  scene  is  Brutus'  garden ;  the  time,  night. 
The  stars  are  shining  brightly;  all  nature  is  serene 
and  tranquil.  Lucius,  a  boy,  is  sleeping  peacefully. 
Brutus  says: 

What,  Lucius,  ho! 

I  cannot,  by  the  progress  of  the  stars, 

Give  guess  how  near  to  day.     Lucius,  I  say! 

I  would  it  were  my  fault  to  sleep  so  soundly. 

When,  Lucius,  when  ?    awake,  I  say!    what,  Lucius! 

Thus  Shakespeare  ushers  in  the  action  of  this 
drama,  which  is  to  the  intensest  degree  tragic. 
Unlike  most  of  the  Shakespeare  plays  there  is  in 
this  one  very  little  humor.  The  nearest  approach 
to  that  is,  here  and  there,  a  pun.  But  Shakespeare 
tones  down  the  tragic,  prevents  it  from  becoming 
monotonous  and  oppressive,  and  at  the  same  time 


254  Shakespeare's  Plots 

intensifies  the  effect  by  means  of  Contrast.  The 
description  of  peaceful  nature  and  a  sleeping  boy 
makes  more  vivid  the  convulsing  soul-conflict  raging 
in  Brutus,  and  the  still  greater  conflict  impending  in 
Rome. 

From  the  time  Brutus  joins  the  conspiracy  he  be- 
comes its  leader.  Shakespeare,  therefore,  in  the 
fore  part  of  the  Growth,  allows  us  to  see  into  the 
mind  and  heart  of  Brutus.  By  means  of  a  soliloquy 
he  reveals  his  motives.  Between  himself  and  Caesar 
there  had  existed  the  truest  friendship.  Cassius  has 
already  informed  us  that  Caesar  loved  Brutus: 

Caesar  doth  bear  me  hard,  but  he  loves  Brutus. 

Brutus  was  fully  cognizant  of  this,  and  so  stated  in 
his  funeral  oration  :  As  Ccesar  lov'd  nie,  I  weep  for 
him,  Antony  adds  his  testimony  to  the  same  effect. 
In  his  funeral  oration  he  said: 

For  Brutus,  as  you  know,  was  Caesar's  angel. 

Brutus  reciprocated  Caesar's  love.  So  that 
Brutus'  decision,  //  must  be  by  his  death  !  was  not 
the  outcome  of  any  personal  cause.  On  the  con- 
trary, it  was  an  offence  against  his  own  affections. 
Nor  was  it  because  of  anything  Caesar  had  done,  or 
Caesar  was.  It  was  the  dread  of  what  he  might,  in 
the  future,  become: 

And,  since  the  quarrel 
Will  bear  no  colour  for  the  thing  he  is, 
Fashion  it  thus;  that  what  he  is,  augmented, 
Would  run  to  these  and  these  extremities:  seq. 


Julius  Caesar  255 

This  soliloquy,  of  which  the  above  lines  are  the 
conclusion,  is  a  masterly  presentation  of  that  strug- 
gle which  takes  place  in  a  good  man  when  two 
duties  conflict.  Loyalty  to  his  friend,  loyalty  to 
his  country,  are  the  duties  which  in  Brutus  are  con- 
tending for  mastery.  The  latter  conquers.  Love  of 
country  was  the  sentiment  which  controlled  him  and 
was  the  mainspring  of  his  action.  His  reflections 
are  thoroughly  instinct  with  the  truest  and  highest 
patriotism.  The  decision  reached  by  him,  although 
purely  unselfish,  perfectly  patriotic,  was  mistaken. 

Virtue  itself  turns  vice,  being  misapplied. 

It  was  but  the  first  of  a  series  of  errors,  which 
were  fatal  to  himself,  ruinous  to  the  conspiracy. 

Most  dangerous 
Is  that  temptation  that  doth  goad  us  on 
To  sin  in  loving  virtue. 

Lucius  enters.  He  gives  Brutus  a  letter.  Brutus 
inquires: 

Is  not  to-morrow,  boy,  the  idea  of  March  ? 

When  Caesar  first  appeared  the  Soothsayer  had 
bidden  him  Beware  the  ides  of  March.  Since  then 
Brutus  had  reached  the  conclusion,  //  must  be  by  his 
death  !  Here  again,  incidentally,  Brutus  refers  to 
the  ides  of  March.  Thus  once  more  Shakespeare 
has  foreshadowed  both  Caesar's  death  and  the  time 
of  its  occurrence. 

The  letter  Brutus  reads: 


256  Shakespeare's  Plots 

The  exhalations  whizzing  in  the  air 

Give  so  much  light  that  I  may  read  by  them. 

These  references  to  the  supernatural,  to  prodigies, 
to  portents,  occur  all  through  the  play.  In  con- 
sidering  them  we  must  remember  that  to  the  men 
of  that  day  they  were  real  and  potent.1  Brutus, 
Caesar,  Cassius,  all  were  influenced  by  them.  We 
must  read  the  play,  and  particularly  these  refer- 
ences  to  the  supernatural,  in  the  light  of  that  day. 

The  letter  calls  on  Brutus  to  save  his  country. 
Its  author  we  know.  It  produces  the  desired 
effect.     Brutus  yields: 

O  Rome,  I  make  thee  promise; 
If  the  redress  will  follow,  thou  receivest 
Thy  full  petition  at  the  hand  of  Brutus! 

Cassius  was  right.     Of  Brutus  he  had  said: 

Well,  Brutus,  thou  art  noble;  yet,  I  see, 
Thy  honourable  metal  may  be  wrought 
From  that  it  is  disposed. 

The  coherence  and  interdependence  of  the  minor 
parts  of  the  drama,  so  far  as  we  have  studied  it,  are 
perfect.  These  minor  details  are  but  different  parts 
of  a  work  of  Art  which  is  organic.  Speaking  of  the 
critical  faculty  in  its  application  to  the  art-product, 

1  "  Astrology  was  not  such  mere  imposition  as  it  is  generally  sup- 
posed to  have  been.  It  is  counted  as  a  science  by  so  sound  and 
sober  a  scholar  as  Melanchthon,  and  even  Bacon  allows  it  a  place 
among  the  sciences,  though  admitting  that  it  '  had  better  intelligence 
and  confederacy  with  the  imagination  of  man  than  with  his  reason.'" 
— Max  Muller,  The  Sciaice  of  Language,  Lecture  I. 


Julius  Caesar  257 

Sir  William  Hamilton  says,'  "  The  less  cultivated 
mind  lingers  over  the  parts,  the  multifarious  details; 
the  more  educated  combines  these  in  unity."  To 
this  I  add  :  the  perfectly  educated  student  is  the  one 
that  recognizes  the  fact  that  in  a  work  of  Art  the 
details  form  a  Unity;  and  conversely,  that  this 
Unity  is  composed  of  Variety.  My  aim  in  the 
study  of  this  drama  is  to  preserve  the  balance  be- 
tween the  minor  parts  and  the  play  as  a  complete 
and  perfect  work  of  dramatic  art,  with  the  ultimate 
purpose  of  making  manifest  the  fact  that  while,  like 
every  other  art-product,  it  possesses  Variety,  its 
primary  quality  i;  Unity. 

Once  more  the  poet  allows  us  to  see  poor  Brutus, 
with  himself  at  war. 

Since  Cassius  first  did  whet  me  against  Caesar, 
I  have  not  slept. 

Between  the  acting  of  a  dreadful  thing 
And  the  first  motion,  all  the  interim  is 
Like  a  phantasma,  or  a  hideous  dream: 
The  Genius  and  the  mortal  instruments 
Are  then  in  council;  and  the  state  of  man, 
Like  to  a  little  kingdom,  suffers  then 
The  nature  of  an  insurrection. 

Lucius  now  announces  Cassius  and  the  other  con- 
spirators. Brutus  welcomes  each  one,  and  then  he 
and  Cassius  whisper.  While  they  are  so  doing, 
Decius,  Casca,  Cinna,  have  a  brief  discussion  as  to 
the  points  of  the  compass.  They  cannot  agree  as 
to  the  direction  in  which  to  look  for  the  rising  sun. 

•  The  Beautiful  and  the  Sublime. 
»7 


258  Shakespeare's  Plots 

The  object  of  the  poet  by  this  brief  Episode  is  to 
make  manifest  the  unsettled  condition  of  the  con- 
spirators' minds.  Brutus  again  shakes  hands  with 
the  others.  Give  me  your  hands  all  over,  one  by  one, 
he  says.  Cassius  then  suggests:  And  let  us  swear 
our  resolution.  Brutus  demurs:  No,  not  an  oath. 
This  inaugurates  a  series  of  differences  between 
Cassius  and  Brutus  which  extend  to  the  battle  of 
Philippi.  In  each  case  Brutus'  motives  are  the 
best  and  truest.  In  each  case  his  judgment  is  mis- 
taken. Yet  always  his  advice  is  followed.  Again 
Cassius  inquires: 

But  what  of  Cicero  ?  shall  we  sound  him  ? 
I  think  he  will  stand  very  strong  with  us. 

Casca,  Cinna,  Metellus,  agree  with  Cassius  in  this 
opinion.  Again  Brutus  demurs.  Cicero,  whose 
influence  and  eloquence  would  have  been  of  the 
greatest  aid  after  the  murder,  is  not  invited  to  join 
the  conspirators.  Cassius  then  suggests  the  advis- 
ability of  killing  Mark  Antony: 

I  think  it  is  not  meet, 
Mark  Antony,  so  well  beloved  of  Caesar, 
Should  outlive  Caesar. 

Again  Cassius  is  overruled  by  Brutus: 

And  for  Mark  Antony,  think  not  of  him; 
For  he  can  do  no  more  than  Caesar's  arm 
When  Cajsar's  head  is  off. 

Brutus'  motives  in  this,  as  in  the  former  case,  are 
the  noblest  and  most  humane: 


Julius  Caesar  259 

Let  us  be  sacrifices,  but  not  butchers,  Caius. 
His  judgment  is  ruinously  mistaken. 

.     .     .     to  be  tender-minded 
Does  not  become  a  sword. 

He  saves  the  very  man  who  becomes  the  principal 
avenger  of  Caesar's  murder. 

The  striking  clock  warns  the  conspirators  of  de- 
parting time.     Before  separating  Cassius  suggests; 

But  it  is  doubtful  yet, 
Whether  Caesar  will  come  forth  to-day,  or  no; 

and  then  states  that  a  change  has  recently  taken 
place  in  him : 

For  he  is  superstitious  grown  of  late, 
Quite  from  the  main  opinion  he  held  once 
Of  fantasy,  of  dreams  and  ceremonies. 

Decius  assures  the  conspirators  that  he  can  over- 
sway  Caesar: 

For  I  can  give  his  humour  the  true  bent, 
And  I  will  bring  him  to  the  Capitol. 

Metellus  suggests  Caius  Ligarius,  on  account  of 
his  enmity  to  Cccsar,  as  a  valuable  accession  to  their 
number.  Brutus  for  once  assents,  and  says  to 
Metellus: 

Send  him  but  hither,  and  I  '11  fashion  him. 

As  the  day  breaks  the  conspirators  separate,  and 
Brutus  is  left  alone. 


260  Shakespeare's  Plots 

The  action  of  the  drama  has  made  considerable 
progress.  The  plans  for  the  murder  of  Caesar  have 
been  perfected.  An  Episode  now  occurs,  the  touch- 
ing interview  between  Portia  and  Brutus.  The 
effect  of  it  is  twofold.  It  stops  the  progress  of  the 
action.  A  drama,  like  human  life,  of  which  it  is 
the  representation,  needs  periods  of  repose.  Also, 
by  means  of  Contrast,  it  intensifies  the  interest  of 
the  spectator. 

Brutus  calls  for  Lucius: 

Boy  !  Lucius  ! — Fast  asleep?    It  is  no  matter;  seq. 

Before  the  boy  awakes,  and  while  Brutus  waits, 
Portia  enters. 

There  are  but  two  women  in  this  play,  Portia  and 
Calpurnia.  Both  are  wives.  Neither  of  them  takes 
any  direct  or  dominant  part  in  the  action  of  the 
drama.  They  influence  the  action  indirectly, 
through  their  husbands,  and  but  faintly.  Unlike 
most  of  the  Shakespearian  plays,  in  this  the  action 
is  inaugurated  and  carried  forward  to  the  Catas- 
trophe wholly  by  men. 

In  the  interview  in  the  early  morn  between  Portia 
and  Brutus  the  nobility  of  their  natures  is  revealed. 
Brutus  is  anxious,  oppressed  with  the  weight  of 
what  he  believes  to  be  a  great  duty.  Portia  is 
loyal,  loving,  noble.  But,  in  each,  devotion  to  the 
other  is  dominant.     Brutus  says: 

You  are  my  true  and  honourable  wife, 
As  dear  to  me  as  are  the  ruddy  drops 
That  visit  my  sad  heart. 


Julius  Caesar  261 

Portia  manifests  her  strength,  endurance,  love, 
by  a  self-inflicted  wound. 

I  have  made  strong  proof  of  my  constancy, 
Giving  myself  a  voluntary  wound 
Here,  in  the  thigh:  can  I  bear  that  with  patience, 
And  not  my  husband's  secrets? 

A  knocking  is  heard.  Brutus  speaks  to  Portia  a 
few  farewell  words,  words  full  of  sadness  and  devo- 
tion: 

Portia,  go  in  a  while; 
And  by  and  by  thy  bosom  shall  partake 
The  secrets  of  my  heart. 

Portia  retires,  nevermore  to  see  Brutus.  That  by 
and  by  never  comes. 

By  this  Episode,  following  directly  after  the 
murderous  plans  of  the  conspirators  have  been 
completed,  and  preceding  but  a  few  hours  the 
consummation  of  those  plans  in  the  murder  of 
Cxsar,  Shakespeare  contrasts  human  love  and  un- 
selfish devotion  with  violence  and  death.  The 
action  of  the  drama  is,  for  the  time  being,  stopped. 
The  strain  on  the  emotions  of  the  spectator  is  tem- 
porarily relieved.  The  impending  tragedy  becomes 
more  awful. 

Lucius  now  enters  and  tells  Brutus:  Here  is  a 
sick  man  that  would  speak  with  you.  It  is,  says 
Brutus,  Caius  Ligarius,  that  Metellus  spake  of. 
Brutus  tells  him  of  an  exploit  worthy  of  the  name  of 
honour.  He  has  such  unquestioning  confidence  in 
Brutus  that  he  decides  to  follow  him: 


262  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Set  on  your  foot, 
And  with  a  heart  new-fired  I  follow  you, 
To  do  I  know  not  what:  but  it  sufficeth 
That  Brutus  leads  me  on. 

While  conferring  they  make  then  exit. 

The  scene  of  the  drama  is  now  transferred  from 
Brutus'  garden  to  Caesar's  palace.  The  time  is  the 
same,  the  early  morning  of  the  day  on  which  Caesar 
is  assassinated.  This,  the  last  Scene  of  the  Growth, 
opens,  as  did  the  last  Scene  of  the  Introduction, 
with  thunder  and  lightning.  As  Cicero,  Casca,  Cas- 
sius,  had  been  powerfully  affected  by  the  prodigies 
of  nature,  so  likewise  are  Caesar  and  Calpumia. 
Caesar  says: 

Nor  heaven  nor  earth  have  been  at  peace  to-night: 
Thrice  hath  Calpurnia  in  her  sleep  cried  out, 
■  '  Help,  ho!  they  murder  Caesar!  " 

Caesar  sends  his  servant  with  a  message  to  the 
priest.     Calpurnia  enters.     She 

Recounts  most  horrid  sights  seen  by  the  watch, 

and  entreats  him  not  to  go  to  the  Capitol.     The 
augurs  also  send  a  warning: 

They  would  not  have  you  to  stir  forth  to-day. 
Caesar  disregards  entreaties  and  warning. 

The  gods  do  this  in  shame  of  cowardice: 
Caesar  should  be  a  beast  without  a  heart, 
If  he  should  stay  at  home  to-day  for  fear. 


Julius  Caesar  263 

No,  Caesar  shall  not:  danger  knows  full  well 
That  Caesar  is  more  dangerous  than  he. 

And  Caesar  shall  go  forth. 

Calpurnia  on  her  knees  implores,  and  then  Caesar 
yields. 

Mark  Antony  shall  say  I  am  not  well; 
And,  for  thy  humour,  I  will  stay  at  home. 

This  decision  is  no  sooner  reached  than  Decius 
Brutus  enters.  He  has  just  left  the  conspirators, 
and  has  come  for  the  purpose  of  inducing  Caesar  to 
go  to  the  Capitol. 

Caesar,  all  hail!  good  morrow,  worthy  Caesar: 
I  come  to  fetch  you  to  the  senate-house. 

Caesar  informs  him  he  has  decided  not  to  go. 
Then  at  Decius'  earnest  request, — 

Most  mighty  Caesar,  let  me  know  some  cause — 

he  informs  him  of  Calpurnia's  dream: 

She  dreamt  to-night  she  saw  my  statua, 
Which,  like  a  fountain  with  an  hundred  spouts, 
Did  run  pure  blood;  seq. 

Decius  gives  to  the  dream  another  interpretation, 
in  the  light  of  which  Calpurnia's  fears  seem  ground- 
less.    Caesar  reverses  his  decision  and  decides  to  go. 

A  change  is  taking  place  in  Shakespeare's  por- 
traiture of  Caesar.  In  the  Introduction  the  poet  had 
dwelt  on  Caesar's  infirmities:  his  inability  to  swim 


264  Shakespeare's  Plots 

the  Tiber;  his  fever  in  Spain;  his  falling  sickness. 
Coupled  with  these  physical  weaknesses  was  his 
ungovernable  ambition.  A  little  later  Cassius  has 
informed  us  that  he  had  grown  superstitious. 
Shakespeare's  intent,  in  thus  portraying  Caesar  in 
the  fore  part  of  the  play,  was  to  prevent  his  great 
personality  overshadowing  that  of  the  conspirators, 
and  also  to  give  some  justification  for  the  conspiracy. 
That  having  been  accomplished,  Shakespeare  now 
in  the  last  Scene  of  the  Growth  (II.,  2)  begins  to 
reveal  the  other  phases  of  Caesar's  character,  viz., 
his  puissance,  his  fearlessness.  Omens,  auguries, 
death  itself,  have  no  terror  for  him.  And  yet  withal 
he  was  gentle  and  loving,  and  yields  to  Calpurnia's 
entreaties.  We  now  see  him  as  Antony  describes 
him :  mighty,  bold,  royal. 

No  sooner  has  he  decided  to  go  to  the  senate- 
house  than  Publius,  a  senator,  and  the  conspirators 
Brutus,  Ligarius,  Metellus,  Casca,  Trebonius,  Cin- 
na,  arrive  at  Caesar's  palace.  Caisar  greets  them 
cordially.  While  he  is  welcoming  them  Antony 
enters.  This  group  is  perfect  and  complete  with 
the  single  exception  of  Cassius.  All  the  conspira- 
tors are  there  save  only  he.  Why  was  Cassius 
absent  ?  Between  him  and  Caesar  there  was  a 
mutual  aversion  and  distrust.  Caesar  considered  him 
dangerous. 

Yond  Cassius  has  a  lean  and  hungry  look; 
He  thinks  too  much:  such  men  are  dangerous. 

I  do  not  know  the  man  I  should  avoid 
So  soon  as  that  spare  Cassius. 


Julius  Caesar  265 

It  was  necessary,  in  order  that  the  action  of 
the  drama  should  progress,  that  Caesar's  suspicions 
should  be  lulled,  and  that  he  should  go  to  the  Capi- 
tol. Cassius'  presence  might  have  aroused  Caesar's 
misgivings,  and  so  have  been  a  deterrent  force. 
Shakespeare,  therefore,  left  him  out  of  this  group. 
He  was  not  present  at  Caesar's  palace.  Towards  the 
other  conspirators  Caesar's  feelings  were  unsus- 
picious: on  the  contrary  they  were  friendly.  He 
considered  their  call  a  compliment.  To  them  he 
said : 

I  thank  you  for  your  pains  and  courtesy. 

He  apologized  for  delaying  them: 

I  am  to  blame  to  be  thus  waited  for. 

Before  starting  for  the  Capitol  he  said: 

Good  friends,,  go  in,  and  taste  some  wine  with  me; 
And  we,  like  friends,  will  straightway  go  together. 

Although  Brutus  was  governed  by  the  purest 
patriotism,  yet  Caesar's  misplaced  trust  and  friend- 
ship caused  him  a  pang.     In  an  aside  he  said : 

That  every  like  is  not  the  same, 

i.  e.t  that  which  is  like  or  resembles  a  thing  is  not 
always  that  thing-^that  which  resembles  friendship 
is  not  always  friendship, 

O  Crcsar, 

The  heart  of  Brutus  yearns  to  think  upon! 


266  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Shakespeare,  by  forming  this  group,  and  placing 
it  at  the  conclusion  of  the  Growth  and  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  Climax,  manifests  perfect  tech- 
nique. All  the  forces  of  the  drama  meet  here,  and 
for  a  moment  are  held  quiescent  and  in  perfect 
poise.  The  group  is  composed  of  Publius,  a  sena- 
tor, who  represents  that  part  of  the  Roman  senate 
which  took  no  part  in  the  action;  of  Caesar,  around 
whom  the  action  centres;  of  the  conspirators,  with 
the  single  exception  of  Cassius,  who  are  the  Com- 
plicating Force  of  the  drama,  by  means  of  whom 
the  action  is  brought  to  a  Climax;  of  Antony,  who, 
together  with  Octavius  Cajsar,  is  the  Resolving 
Force,  and  by  means  of  whom  the  action  is  carried 
forward  from  the  Climax  to  the  Catastrophe. 

The  Growth  ends  with  this  meeting  in  Caesar's 
palace.  The  first  step  which  these  men  take  to- 
wards the  Capitol  is  the  commencement  of  the 
Climax. 

CLIMAX 

II.,  3-IIL,  2 

All  great  Art  is  characterized  by  transitions  which 
are  subtle,  graduated:  in  the  plastic  and  graphic 
arts,  transitions  of  light  and  shade,  of  color;  in 
music,  transitions  of  tone;  in  poetry,  transitions  of 
thought  and  feeling. 

The  Climax  of  this  play  is  one  of  the  longest 
Climaxes  Shakespeare  ever  wrote.  By  extending 
it  to  an  exceptional  length  he  has  conformed  to  this 
canon  of  Art.     All  through  the  fore  part  of  the  play 


Julius  Caesar  267 

he  has  tried  to  give  some  justification  for  the  con- 
spiracy. When  that  has  reached  its  culmination  in 
the  death  of  Caesar  many  spectators  would  extenuate 
the  assassination  on  the  ground  of  cruel  necessity. 
Such  believe  Caesar's  ambition,  coupled  with  his 
power,  was  a  menace  to  the  Republic.  They  have 
accepted  Brutus'  statement: 

And  pity  to  the  general  wrong  of  Rome- 
Hath  done  this  deed  on  Caesar. 

At  this  stage  of  the  action  it  becomes  necessary  for 
the  poet  to  justify  the  impending  retribution.  For 
this  purpose  Shakespeare  first  modifies,  then  re- 
verses, the  sentiments  of  the  spectators.  He  does 
not  do  this  abruptly  or  violently.  In  order  to 
avoid  that,  he  expands  the  Climax  to  an  excep- 
tional length.  As  a  consequence  the  change  is 
slow,  gradual,  and  therefore  artistic.  The  death  of 
Caesar  is  represented  very  briefly.  This  is  followed 
by  the  somewhat  extended  conversation  between 
Antony  and  the  conspirators;  and,  later,  by  the 
still  more  prolonged  orations  of  Brutus  and  Antony. 
During  this  conversation  and  these  orations,  and  as 
a  result  thereof,  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  the 
spectators,  which  at  the  close  of  Brutus'  speech 
are  expressed  by  the  words  of  the  citizens: 

Live,  Brutus!  live,  live! 

Caesar's  better  parts 
Shall  be  crown'd  in  Brutus, 


268  Shakespeare's  Plots 

on  the  conclusion  of  Antony's  oration  are  expressed 
by  the  same  citizens : 

Come,  away,  away! 
We  Ml  burn  his  [Caesar's]  body  in  the  holy  place, 
And  with  the  brands  fire  the  traitors'  houses. 

This  change  wrought  by  the  poet  is  as  radical  as 
that  from  day  to  night,  and  at  the  same  time  it  is 
just  as  gradual. 

Shakespeare  begins  the  Climax  with  two  Scenes 
which  are  episodic.  Artemidorus,  a  teacher  of 
rhetoric,  enters,  reading  a  paper  which  he  intends 
later  to  give  to  Ceesar.  In  it  he  warns  Caesar  against 
the  conspirators,  naming  them  one  by  one: 

There  is  but  one  mind  in  all  these  men,  and  it  is  bent 
against  Caesar.  If  thou  beest  not  immortal,  look  about 
you:  security  gives  way  to  conspiracy.  The  mighty  gods 
defend  thee! 

Artemidorus  then  expresses  his  own  sentiments, 
and  in  so  doing  voices  those  of  the  spectators  of  the 
drama: 

My  heart  laments  that  virtue  cannot  live 
Out  of  the  teeth  of  emulation. 

He  closes  his  reflections  by  describing  upon  what  a 
trivial  act  the  life  of  Caesar  depends: 

If  thou  read  this,  O  Caesar,  thou  mayst  live; 
If  not,  the  Fates  with  traitors  do  contrive. 

The  effect  of  this  Episode  is  to  intensify  the  emo- 
tional strain  of  the  spectator.      This  effect  is  still 


Julius  Caesar  269 

further  enhanced  by  the  next  Scene,  in  which 
Shakespeare  portrays  the  profound  agitation  of 
Portia.  Like  Calpuinia,  she  is  overcome  with  anx- 
iety for  her  husband,  with  the  dread  of  impending 
danger.  She  is  alarmed,  terrified.  She  orders 
Lucius  to  run  to  the  senate-house,  and 

.     .     .     bring  me  word,  boy,  if  thy  lord  look  well, 
For  he  went  sickly  forth:  and  take  good  note 
What  Caesar  doth,  what  suitors  press  to  him. 

She  hears,  or  imagines  she  does, 

.     .     .     a  bustling  rumour,  like  a  fray, 
And  the  wind  brings  it  from  the  Capitol. 

Later  she  meets  the  Soothsayer,  and  her  trepida- 
tion and  foreboding  manifest  themselves  by  her 
question: 

Why,  know'st  thou  any  harm  's  intended  towards  him 
[Caesar]  ? 

The  Scene  ends  with  Portia  in  a  state  of  collapse: 

I  must  go  in.     Ay  me,  how  weak  a  thing 
The  heart  of  woman  is! 

,     .     .     Oh,  I  grow  faint! 

From  this  time  Portia  ceases  to  be  an  actor  in  this 
drama. 

In  the  first  Scene  of  the  Climax  Shakespeare  has 
revealed  the  intense  solicitude  of  two  friends  of 
Caesar,   Artemidorus   and   the  Soothsayer;  in  the 


270  Shakespeare's  Plots 

second,  that  of  Portia,  the  wife  of  Brutus,  the  friend 
of  the  conspirators.  Like  two  branches  of  a  river, 
both  flowing  side  by  side  toward  the  ocean,  the  dra- 
matist thus  represents  two  currents  of  intense  feel- 
ing, both  moving  toward  the  Climax:  one,  that  of 
the  friends,  the  other,  that  of  the  enemies,  of  Caesar. 

In  these  two  Scenes  nothing  has  been  done.  They 
are,  as  I  have  said,  episodic.  Still  there  has  been 
dramatic  progress.  Like  the  ominous  lull  which 
precedes  the  storm,  by  increasing  the  mental  and 
emotional  stress  of  the  spectator  these  two  Scenes 
have  intensified  his  interest  and  prepared  him  for 
the  action  of  the  drama,  which,  on  their  conclusion, 
moves  forward  with  the  utmost  rapidity. 

Caesar,  his  friends,  the  conspirators,  now  appear 
on  their  way  to  the  Capitol.  Meeting  the  Sooth- 
sayer, who  had  already,  more  than  once,  warned 
him  to 

Beware  the  ides  of  March, 

Caesar  recalled  the  monition,  and  said  to  him: 

The  ides  of  March  are  come. 

To  which  he  replied: 

Ay,  Caesar;  but  not  gone. 

Then,  having  fulfilled  his  mission  in  the  drama,  he 
disappears.  Immediately  thereafter  Artemidorus 
presents  his  paper  to  Caesar : 

Hail,  Caesar!  read  this  schedule. 


Julius  Caesar  271 

Notwithstanding  the  most  urgent  entreaty,  and 
the  statement  that  it  touches  Ccesar  nearer,  i.  e.t 
more  vitally,  Caesar  ignores  it.  Knowing  that 
Caesar's  life  depends  on  its  perusal,  Artemidorus 
makes  one  final  and  urgent  effort: 

Delay  not,  Caesar;  read  it  instantly. 

But  in  vain.  Caesar  heeds  not  the  warning.  Ar- 
temidorus takes  no  further  part  in  the  action  of  the 
drama. 

As  the  drama  approaches  the  acme  of  the  Climax 
there  is  great  concentration.  One  minor  character 
after  another  vanishes.  Flavius,  Marullus,  Cicero, 
Portia,  Calpurnia,  the  Soothsayer,  Artemidorus, 
have  disappeared.  They  are  but  Mechanical  Per- 
sonages, and  only  indirectly  connected  with  the  ac- 
tion. As  their  dramatic  lives  cease,  the  attention 
of  the  spectator  is  more  and  more  concentrated  on 
those  characters  by  whom  the  Main  Action  is  car- 
ried forward. 

The  Capitol  is  reached.  Popilius,  a  member  of 
the  Senate,  but  not  one  of  the  conspirators,  says  to 
Cassius: 

I  wish  your  enterprise  to-day  may  thrive. 

Cassius,  fearful  that  the  plot  had  been  discovered, 
asks  him : 

What  enterprise,  Popilius  ? 
The  latter  replies: 

Fare  you  well. 


272  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Cassius,  with  wise  foresight,  had  proposed  to 
Brutus 

And  let  us  swear  our  resolution. 

Brutus  refused : 

No,  not  an  oath:  seq. 

As  a  consequence  the  existence  of  the  conspiracy 
became  known.  Portia  suspected  it.  So  did  the 
Soothsayer.  Artemidorus  knew  of  it.  So  did  Po- 
pilius.  Cassius  perceived  this,  and  advised  that  the 
plot  be  executed  immediately: 

Casca,  be  sudden,  for  we  fear  prevention. 

Trebonius  draws  Mark  Antony  out  of  the  way. 
The  other  conspirators,  Metellus  Cimber,  Brutus, 
Cassius,  Cinna,  Decius,  surround  Caesar, 

Desiring  [him]  that  Publius  Cimber  may 
Have  an  immediate  freedom  of  repeal. 

Caesar  refuses,  at  first  kindly,  then  firmly,  then 
contemptuously,  and  at  last  wrathfully: 

Hence!  wilt  thou  lift  up  Olympus  ? 

Casca  had  been  selected  as  the  first  to  rear  the 
hand.     In  response  to  Caesar's  words  he  says: 

Speak,  hands,  for  me! 

and  stabs  Caesar.     The  others  do  likewise,  and  last 
of  all  Brutus: 


Julius  Caesar  273 

.     .     .     when  the  noble  Caesar  saw  him  stab, 

Ingratitude,  more  strong  than  traitors'  arms, 

Quite  vanquish'd  him:  then  burst  his  mighty  heart; 

And,  in  his  mantle  muffling  up  his  face, 

Even  at  the  base  of  Pompey's  statua, 

Which  all  the  while  ran  blood,  great  Caesar  fell. 

Pompey  had  been  his  rival.  Over  Pompey's  sons 
and  followers  he  had,  but  a  short  time  previously, 
gained  the  battle  of  Munda.  It  was  to  rejoice  in 
that  triumph,  and  to  make  holiday  to  see  Caesar, 
that  the  citizens  had  gathered  in  the  streets  of 
Rome.  Caesar's  triumph,  with  a  description  of 
which  the  play  opens,  was  short-lived.  Now,  but 
a  few  days  later,  he  lies  dead  at  the  foot  of  Pom- 
pey's  statue. 

The  conspiracy  having  reached  its  consummation 
in  the  death  of  Caesar,  confusion  and  suspense  ensue. 
Cinna  expresses  the  sentiments  of  the  conspirators: 

Liberty!     Freedom!     Tyranny  is  dead! 

Cassius  adds: 

Liberty!  freedom,  and  enfranchisement! 

Brutus  says: 

.     .     .     ambition's  debt  is  paid. 

Then,  like  a  brave  and  honorable  man,  he  assumes 
full  responsibility  for  his  share  of  the  deed.  He  ad- 
vises Publius  to  retire,  adding: 

.     .     .     and  let  no  man  abide  this  deed, 
But  we  the  doers. 

t8 


274  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Trebonius,  who  had  drawn  Mark  Antony  out  of 
the  way,  now  enters.  He  informs  the  others  that 
Antony  has 

Fled  to  his  house  amazed: 
Men,  wives  and  children  stare,  cry  out  and  run 
As  it  were  doomsday. 

Uncertainty  now  takes  the  place  of  confidence. 
Brutus  appeals  to  the  Fates,  and  is  willing  to  abide 
by  their  pleasure.  Casca  feebly  echoes  this  senti- 
ment. Brutus  suggests  that  they  appeal  to  their 
countrymen.  Cassius  supplements  this  by  an  ap- 
peal to  posterity.  The  conspirators  decide  to  leave 
the  senate-house,  and  appeal  to  the  Roman  people. 
Just  as  they  are  starting,  a  servant  enters.  This  is 
the  acme  of  the  Climax.1  Instantly  the  current  of 
the  action  changes.  Up  to  this  time  the  conspirators 
have  been  successful.  Now  the  reaction  begins,  a 
reaction  which  continues  through  the  remainder  of 
the  play,  and  ends  only  with  the  deaths  of  Brutus 
and  Cassius. 

Concurrent  with  the  change  in  the  action  of  the 
drama  occurs  one  equally  pronounced  in  the  con- 
duct of  Antony.  He  had  been  the  friend  of  Caesar, 
and  thrice  had  offered  him  the  crown.  To  the  su- 
perficial observer  he  appeared  weak,  trifling,  syco- 
phantic, deficient  in  manliness  and  honor.  Brutus 
had  said  he  was  but  a  limb  of  Caesar,  and  could  do 

1  Shakespeare,  as  usual,  puts  this  in  the  centre  of  the  drama. 
There  are  in  the  play  2477  verses.  This  one,  Enter  a  servant,  is 
verse  1219. 


Julius  Caesar  275 

No  more  than  Caesar's  arm 
When  Caesar's  head  is  off. 

His  life,  his  death,  were  of  no  consequence  to  the 
success  of  the  conspiracy, 

For  he  is  given 
To  sports,  to  wildness  and  much  company. 

In  fact,  Trebonius  thought  Antony's  love  for  Caesar 
so  superficial  and  unreal  that  he  would  laugh  at  this 
(Caesar's  assassination)  hereafter.  And,  in  truth, 
there  was  much  reason  for  this  estimate  of  Antony. 
Caesar  speaks  of  him  as 

Antony,  that  revels  long  o'  nights. 

Such  was  one  aspect  of  Antony's  character.  He 
was  this,  but  he  was  more.  To  Cassius,  who  was  a 
great  observer \  and  looked  quite  through  the  deeds  of 
men,  he  appeared  different.  Cassius  perceived  that 
notwithstanding  a  careless  and  reckless  exterior, 
concealed  under  the  veil  of  wildness  Antony  was 
crafty,  calculating,  daring,  dangerous. 

We  shall  find  of  him 
A  shrewd  contriver;  and,  you  know,  his  means, 
If  he  improve  them,  may  well  stretch  so  far 
As  to  annoy  us  all. 

In  these  few  lines,  which  occur  in  the  fore  part  of 
the  Growth,  Shakespeare,  by  fine  foreshadowing, 
points  to  Antony  as  the  avenger.  Cassius  was  cor- 
rect. No  sooner  was  Caesar  murdered  than  a  reac- 
tion takes  place  in  Antony.     The  weight  of  a  great 


276  Shakespeare's  Plots 

duty  presses  on  him.  His  frivolity,  his  revelling, 
give  way  to  the  utmost  seriousness.  He  dedicates 
himself  to  the  destruction  of  the  conspirators. 

He  sends  a  servant  to  the  conspirators  with  this 
message : 

If  Brutus  will  vouchsafe  that  Antony 
May  safely  come  to  him,  and  be  resolved 
How  Caesar  hath  deserved  to  lie  in  death, 
Mark  Antony  shall  not  love  Caesar  dead 
So  well  as  Brutus  living;  but  will  follow 
The  fortunes  and  affairs  of  noble  Brutus 
Thorough  the  hazards  of  this  untrod  state 
With  all  true  faith. 

This  message  is  judicial,  masterful,  and  forebodes 
ill  to  the  conspirators.  Cassius,  keen  of  insight  and 
wise  of  foresight,  perceives  this.  When  Brutus,  mis- 
taken as  usual,  expressed  a  confident  belief  that  we 
shall  have  Antony  well  to  friend,  Cassius  responds: 

I  wish  we  may:  but  yet  have  I  a  mind 

That  fears  him  much;  and  my  misgiving  still 

Falls  shrewdly  to  the  purpose. 

A  moment  later  Antony  enters.  The  action  of 
the  drama  is  now  temporarily  stayed. 

In  this  play  Julius  C.tsar,  as  I  have  previously 
stated,  is  not  active,  but  passive.  Forces  outside 
of  himself  impel  the  action  to  a  Climax.  Other 
forces,  still  outside  of  himself,  urge  forward  the 
action  to  the  Catastrophe.  These  two  forces,  tech- 
nically the  action  and  the  counter-action,  meet  at 
the  dead  body  of  Caesar.     When  the  movement  of 


Julius  Caesar  277 

the  drama  is  renewed,  each  of  these  forces  changes 
its  direction.  The  former  moves  downward  and 
ends  in  the  defeat  and  destruction  of  the  conspira- 
tors; the  latter  rises  to  victory  and  successful  retri- 
bution. 

Antony  enters.  He  disregards  Brutus'  welcome, 
and  immediately  apostrophizes  the  dead  body  of 
Caesar.  He  manifests  his  loyalty  to  his  murdered 
friend,  and  his  own  fearlessness  of  death.  Antony 
was,  as  Cassius  had  described  him,  a  shrewd  con- 
triver. He  perceived  instantly  that  the  duty  of 
avenging  Caesar's  death  devolved  upon  him.  That 
duty  he  cheerfully,  fearlessly,  accepted.  At  the  same 
time  he  knew  that  to  have  an  open  rupture  with  the 
conspirators  at  this  time  would  be  premature,  in- 
opportune. He  therefore,  for  the  time  being,  con- 
ceals his  feeling  toward,  his  opinion  of  them,  and 
closes  this  apostrophe  to  Caesar  by  describing  Brutus, 
Cassius,  and  the  others  as: 

The  choice  and  master  spirits  of  this  age. 

Brutus'  response  to  Antony  is  noble,  patriotic, 
kindly: 

Our  hearts  you  see  not;  they  are  pitiful; 
And  pity  to  the  general  wrong  of  Rome — 

Hath  done  this  deed  on  Caesar:  seq. 

Cassius,  crafty,  subtle,  attempts  to  win  Antony,  not, 
like  Brutus,  by  appealing  to  his  patriotism,  but  to 
his  interest: 


278  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Your  voice  shall  be  as  strong  as  any  man's 
In  the  disposing  of  new  dignities. 

Brutus  asks  him  to  hold  his  judgment  in  abeyance, 
and  promises  later  to 

.     .     .     deliver  you  the  cause, 
Why  I,  that  did  love  Caesar  when  I  struck  huu; 
Have  thus  proceeded. 

Antony  again,  for  a  moment,  conceals  his  real  feel- 
ing. He  shakes  hands  with  his  former  friends. 
Then,  turning  to  Caesar's  corpse,  he  addresses  it: 

Pardon  me,  Julius! 

Cassius  divines  Antony's  motive.  He  again  ad- 
dresses him.  Before  he  can  utter  more  than  An- 
tony's name  Antony  checks  him  : 

Pardon  me,  Caius  Cassius: 
The  enemies  of  Caesar  shall  say  this: 
Then,  in  a  friend,  it  is  cold  modesty. 

Cassius,  intent  on  making  Antony  reveal  his  deter- 
mination, responds,  testily  but  firmly: 

I  blame  you  not  for  praising  Caesar  so; 
But  what  compact  mean  you  to  have  with  us  ? 
Will  you  be  prick'd  in  number  of  our  friends; 
Or  shall  we  on,  and  not  depend  on  you  ? 

Antony's  reply  is  non-committal,  Machiavellian: 

Therefore  I  took  your  hands,  but  was,  indeed, 
Sway'd  from  the  point,  by  looking  down  on  Caesar. 


Julius  Caesar  279 

Friends  am  I  with  you  all  and  love  you  all, 
Upon  this  hope,  that  you  shall  give  me  reasons 
Why  and  wherein  Caesar  was  dangerous. 

Brutus,  failing  to  perceive  Antony's  real  feeling  and 
purpose,  answers  frankly  that  they  would  give  such 
reasons 

That  were  you,  Antony,  the  son  of  Caesar, 
You  should  be  satisfied. 

Having  entrapped  Brutus,  Antony  now  makes  the 
request 

.     .     .     that  I  may 
Produce  his  body  to  the  market-place; 
And  in  the  pulpit,  as  becomes  a  friend, 
Speak  in  the  order  of  his  funeral. 

This  request  is  fraught  with  the  gravest  danger  to 
the  conspirators.  Brutus,  conscious  of  his  own 
purity  and  nobility  of  motive,  is  blind  to  the  peril. 
He  assents  to  the  request.  Instantly  Cassius  pro- 
tests. He  foresees  the  disastrous  consequences  of 
allowing  Antony  to  pronounce  a  funeral  oration. 
He  warns  Brutus.  Brutus  still  fails  to  perceive  the 
danger.  He  then  commits  the  corpse  to  Antony's 
care.  Shakespeare  thus  again  points  to  Antony  as 
the  principal  avenger: 

Mark  Antony,  here,  take  you  Caesar's  body. 
You  shall  not  in  your  funeral  speech  blame  us, 
But  speak  all  good  you  can  devise  of  Caesar, 
And  say  you  do  't  by  our  permission; 
Else  shall  you  not  have  any  hand  at  all 
About  his  funeral. 


280  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Antony  accepts  the  charge.  He  bears  the  corse  into 
the  market-place,  and  never  does  he  allow  it  to  go 
out  of  his  possession  until  he  gives  it  to  the  friendly 
citizens.  They  retire  with  it  for  the  purpose  of 
burning  it  in  the  holy  place. 

After  Brutus  had  given  Caesar's  body  to  Antony 
he  and  Cassius  retire.  Antony  is  left  alone.  He 
immediately  throws  off  all  disguise,  and  we  see  in 
him  the  personification  of  the  counter-force,  of  that 
force  which  is  to  oppose,  and  finally  to  crush,  the 
conspirators. 

The  reader  will  observe  how  gradually  the  poet 
has  depicted  this  change.  First  comes,  not  Antony, 
but  his  servant.  Later,  Antony  himself  appears. 
For  a  time  he  reveals  himself  alternately  as  the 
friend  of  Brutus  and  of  Caisar.  Only  after  the  lapse 
of  some  time  does  he  manifest  himself  as  the  enemy 
of  the  conspirators,  the  friend  and  avenger  of  Caesar. 

In  a  similar  manner,  viz.,  by  the  entrance  of  a 
servant,  does  Shakespeare  introduce  the  other  rep- 
resentative of  the  counter-force,  Octavius  Caesar. 
Octavius  was  the  grandson  of  the  sister  of  Julius 
Caesar.  The  latter  had  adopted  him  as  a  son,  and 
made  him  his  heir.  Shortly  before  his  death  Julius 
Caesar  had  written  to  Octavius,  so  Antony  informs 
us,  to  come  to  Rome.  He  did  not  come  in  person, 
but  sent  his  servant,  who  announced 

He  did  receive  his  letters,  and  is  coming; 
And  bid  me  say  to  you  by  word  of  mouth — 

then  seeing  the  wounded  body  the  servant  simply 
exclaims,  O  desar,  and  weeps.     The  message  from 


Julius  Caesar  281 

Octavius  is  not  delivered.  We  are,  however,  in- 
formed that  he  is  on  his  way,  and  lies  to-night  ivithin 
seven  leagues  of  Rome,    Antony  orders  the  servant  to 

Post  back  with  speed,  and  tell  him  what  hath  chanced: 
Here  is  a  mourning  Rome,  a  dangerous  Rome, 
No  Rome  of  safety  for  Octavius  yet. 

Antony  quickly  reconsiders,  and  directs  the  servant 
to  wait  until  he  can  ascertain 

.     .     .     how  the  people  take 
The  cruel  issue  of  these  bloody  men: 

When  that  has  been  revealed  then 

.     .     .     thou  shalt  discourse 
To  young  Octavius  of  the  state  of  things. 

Antony  and  the  servant  of  Octavius  then  bear 
Caesar's  body  to  the  Forum.  Not  until  some  time 
later  does  Octavius  appear  in  person. 

Thus,  in  perfect  accord  with  the  canon  of  Art  that 
transitions  must  be  subtle  and  graduated,  has  the 
poet  introduced  Antony  and  Octavius,  the  person- 
ifications of  the  counter-force. 

In  the  fore  part  of  the  play  the  dramatist  had  to 
justify  the  assassination.  In  the  after  part  he  had 
to  vindicate  the  retribution.  One  of  the  ways  in 
which  he  does  the  latter  is  by  making  Antony  speak 
these  apostrophes,  so  full  of  sympathy  and  grief,  to 
the  murdered  Caesar: 

O  mighty  Caesar!  dost  thou  lie  so  low  ? 

Are  all  thy  conquests,  glories,  triumphs,  spoils, 

Shrunk  to  this  little  measure  ?     Fare  thee  well. 


282  Shakespeare's  Plots 

And  again,  when  Antony  is  left  alone  with  the 
corpse : 

O,  pardon  me,  thou  bleeding  piece  of  earth, 

That  I  am  meek  and  gentle  with  these  butchers! 

Thou  art  the  ruins  of  the  noblest  man 

That  ever  lived  in  the  tide  of  times. 

Woe  to  the  hand  that  shed  this  costly  blood! 

In  these  impassioned  words  Antony  expresses  his 
feelings  caused  by  Caesar's  untimely  taking-off.  By 
means  of  them— and  this  is  their  principal  dramatic 
function — the  great  artist  is  subtly  enkindling  simi- 
lar feelings  in  the  spectators.  And  this  effect  is  still 
further  enhanced,  in  fact  is  developed  to  the  highest 
degree,  by  Antony's  funeral  oration.  The  rivulet 
soon  becomes  a  mighty,  rushing,  irresistible  torrent. 

Brutus  and  Cassius,  accompanied  by  a  throng  of 
citizens,  go  to  the  Forum.  Cassius,  with  those  of 
the  citizens  who  wish  to  hear  him  speak,  retires. 
Shakespeare  gives  us  no  report  of  Cassius'  oration. 
The  reason  is,  from  the  time  Brutus  joined  the  con- 
spiracy he  became  its  leader  and  representative. 
Hence  Shakespeare  makes  him  the  mouthpiece  of 
the  assassins. 

The  orations  of  Brutus  and  Antony  differ  in  form. 
One  is  spoken  in  prose,  the  other  in  blank  verse. 
This  difference  is  not  factitious.  Rather,  it  is 
natural  and  real.  It  reflects  the  characters  of  the 
speakers,  and  the  nature  of  their  speeches.  Brutus 
is  governed  by  thought  and  principle.  Hence  in 
his  oration  he  is  unimpassioned ;  he  appeals  to  the 
reason  of  the  mob.      He  speaks  in  prose.     Antony 


Julius  Caesar  283 

is  governed  by  feeling,  impulse.  His  speech  is  im- 
passioned. He  appeals  to  the  sympathies,  emotions 
of  the  citizens.  His  speech  is  in  the  form  of  blank 
verse.  This  distinction  Shakespeare  generally, 
though  not  always,  makes.  In  dialogue,  in  light 
conversation,  in  narration  where  there  is  absence  of 
feeling,  where  he  desires  to  lower  the  dramatic 
pitch,  Shakespeare  uses  prose.  When  he  expresses 
intense,  passionate  emotion  he  uses  blank  verse. 
In  the  first  Scene  of  this  play  Flavius  and  Marullus, 
who  express  indignation  at  the  conduct  of  the  citi- 
zens, and  then  later  appeal  to  their  sympathy  for 
Pompey,  and  to  their  patriotism,  speak  in  blank 
verse.  The  citizens,  in  their  matter-of-fact  re- 
sponses, use  prose.  Scene  2  is  in  blank  verse,  with 
the  exception  of  Casca's  description  of  the  offer  of 
a  crown  to  Caesar  by  Mark  Antony.  In  narrating 
that,  Casca  uses  prose. 

Brutus  addresses  the  citizens: 

Hear  me  for  my  cause,  and  be  silent,  that  you  may 
hear:  believe  me  for  mine  honour,  and  have  respect  to 
mine  honour,  that  you  may  believe:  censure  me  in  your 
wisdom,  and  awake  your  senses,  that  you  may  the  better 
judge. 

He  expresses  his  love  for  Caesar,  and  also  for  his 
country,  and  states  that  his  motive  in  murdering 
Caesar  was  purely  patriotic.  He  draws  the  conclu- 
sion : 

Who  is  here  so  base  that  would  be  a  bondman  ?  If 
any,  speak;  for  him  have  I  offended.     Who  is  here  so 


284  Shakespeare's  Plots 

rude  that  would  not  be  a  Roman?  If  any,  speak;  for 
him  have  I  offended.  Who  is  here  so  vile  that  will  not 
love  his  country?  If  any,  speak;  for  him  have  I  offended. 

His  reasoning  in  this,  as  in  everything,  is  faulty. 
His  conclusion,  via.,  that  none  but  bondmen,  slaves, 
men  deficient  in  patriotism,  villains,  would  be 
offended  by  the  assassination,  is  a  non  sequitur.  an 
unwarranted  conclusion.  But  the  citizens  were  won. 
They  inferred  that  Brutus  aspired  to  Caesar's  place, 
and  they  were  willing  to  give  it  to  him. 

Live,  Brutus!  live,  live! 

Bring  him  with  triumph  home  unto  his  house. 

Give  him  a  statue  with  his  ancestors. 

Let  him  be  Cresar. 

After  entreating  them  to  listen  to  Mark  Antony, 
Brutus  departs. 

Antony,  at  the  commencement  of  his  oration, 
manifests  the  most  consummate  tact.  He  first  pre- 
pares the  minds  of  his  hearers  to  receive  his  message. 
Until  that  has  been  done  he  approaches  the  subject 
not  directly,  but  indirectly;  not  immediately,  but 
slowly,  gradually.  Brutus  had  left  the  impression 
that  Caesar  was  a  tyrant,  and  justly  slain.  Antony 
does  not  at  once  attempt  to  controvert  this.  He 
does  not  come  to  praise,  but  to  bury  Caesar.  Brutus 
had  charged  Cassar  with  an  unpatriotic  ambition, 
with  the  intention  of  robbing  the  Roman  citizens  of 
their  freedom,  of  reducing  them  to  slavery.  Antony 
does  not  directly  dispute  this  He  simply  mentions 
three  facts: 


Julius  Caesar  285 

He  hath  brought  many  captives  home  to  Rome, 
Whose  ransoms  did  the  general  coffers  fill: 

When  that  the  poor  have  cried,  Caesar  hath  wept: 

You  all  did  see  that  on  the  Lupercal 
I  thrice  presented  him  a  kingly  crown, 
Which  he  did  thrice  refuse. 

Then  he  adds,  with  perfect  irony: 

I  speak  not  to  disprove  what  Brutus  spoke, 
But  here  I  am  to  speak  what  I  do  know. 

Pointing  to  the  corpse  he  makes  the  touching  state- 
ment: 

My  heart  is  in  the  coffin  there  with  Caesar. 

During  this  pause  in  Antony's  oration,  Shakespeare 
reveals  to  us  the  change  which  has  taken  place  in 
the  opinion  of  the  citizens: 

Methinks  there  is  much  reason  in  his  sayings. 

If  thou  consider  rightly  of  the  matter, 

Caesar  has  had  great  wrong. 

I  fear  there  will  a  worse  come  in  his  place. 

Mark'd  ye  his  words  ?    He  would  not  take  the  crown; 

Therefore  't  is  certain  he  was  not  ambitious. 

If  it  be  found  so,  some  will  dear  abide  it. 

There  's  not  a  nobler  man  in  Rome  than  Antony. 

Antony  now  proceeds  to  stir  the  hearts  and  minds 
of  the  citizens  to  mutiny  and  rage  by  showing 
Caesar's  will.     Curiosity  is  excited.     This  is  made 


286  Shakespeare's  Plots 

more  intense  by  Antony's  refusal  to  read  the  will, 
and  by  the  hint  that  the  citizens  are  Caesar's  heirs. 
He  refers  to  the  conspirators  as 

.     .     the  honourable  men 
Whose  daggers  have  stabb'd  Csesar. 

The  change  in  the  citizens  now  becomes  more 
pronounced.  They  describe  Brutus,  Cassius,  the 
others,  as  traitors,  villains,  murderers.  Antony  ex- 
poses Caesar's  mantle,  covered  with  his  blood,  with 
the  rents  made  in  it  by  the  conspirators'  daggers. 
Antony  had  not  been  present  when  Caesar  was  as- 
sassinated. That,  however,  did  not  deter  him  from 
proceeding  to  describe  in  detail  the  murder: 

Look,  in  this  place  ran  Cassius'  dagger  through: 
See  what  a  rent  the  envious  Casca  made: 
Through  this  the  well-beloved  Brutus  stabb'd. 

He  then  uncovers  the  corpse: 

Look  you  here, 
Here  is  himself,  marr'd,  as  you  see,  with  traitors. 

The  effect  is  such  as  Antony  intended  and  desired: 

We  will  be  revenged. 

Revenge!    About!    Seek!    Burn!    Fire!    Kill!    Slay! 
Let  not  a  traitor  live! 

Antony  still  delays  the  reading  of  the  will,  while  he 
disclaims  all  oratorical  ability.  The  resentment, 
wrath,  of  the  citizens  intensify.  At  last  Antony 
informs  them  of  the  contents  of  the  will : 


Julius  Caesar  287 

Here  is  the  will,  and  under  Caesar's  seal. 

To  every  Roman  citizen  he  gives, 

To  every  several  man,  seventy-five  drachmas. 

Moreover,  he  hath  left  you  all  his  walks, 

His  private  arbours  and  new-planted  orchards, 

On  this  side  Tiber;     .     .     . 

Here  was  a  Caesar!  when  comes  such  another  ? 

The  citizens  respond: 

Never,  never.     Come,  away,  away! 
We  '11  burn  his  body  in  the  holy  place, 
And  with  the  brands  fire  the  traitors'  houses. 

They  retire  with  the  body.     Antony's  purpose  is 
accomplished. 

Now  let  it  work.     Mischief,  thou  art  afoot, 
Take  thou  what  course  thou  wilt! 

The  transformation  in  the  sentiments  of  the  mob 
is  complete.  The  very  men  for  the  preservation  of 
whose  freedom  the  conspirators  had  murdered 
Caesar  repudiate  the  deed,  and  breathe  vengeance 
against  the  assassins.  This  is  but  typical  of  the 
change  in  the  current  of  the  action.  Brutus  and 
Cassius,  who  but  a  few  hours  before  were  the  idols 
of  the  people,  the  masters  of  Rome, 

Are  rid  like  madmen  through  the  gates  of  Rome. 

Octavius   and    Lepidus   have   arrived,   and    are  at 
Caesar's  house,  whither  Antony  goes  to  join  them. 


288  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Fortune  is  now  favorable  to  the  avengers,  and,  as 
Antony  says, 

.     .     .     is  merry 
And  in  this  mood  will  give  us  anything. 

And  Fortune  does  so.  She  brings  victory  to 
Antony  and  Octavius;  to  Brutus  and  Cassius,  de- 
feat and  death. 

FALL 

III.,  3-IV.,/«w 

If  a  drama  be  symmetrical,  all  following  the 
Climax,  or  third  division,  Complements  and  Bal- 
ances all  preceding  it.  The  Fall,  or  fourth  division, 
is  the  counterpart  of  the  Introduction,  or  first  divi- 
sion. The  former  must  Complement  and  Balance 
the  latter. 

This  play  conforms  to  this  canon  of  dramatic  con- 
struction. In  it,  both  in  the  Fall  and  in  the  Intro- 
duction, appears  the  Roman  mob.  Antony,  who  in 
the  Introduction  had  been  the  friend  of  Caesar,  and 
had  thrice  offered  him  the  crown,  appears  in  the 
Fall  as  his  avenger.  In  the  Introduction  Brutus 
and  Cassius  had  been  the  chief  organizers  of  the 
conspiracy.  In  the  Fall  they  are  engaged  in  making 
preparation  to  withstand  the  results,  so  disastrous 
to  them,  of  that  conspiracy.  Caesar's  bodily  weak- 
ness, his  physical  infirmities,  which  Shakespeare  de- 
scribes so  forcefully  in  the  fore  part  of  the  play,  are 
balanced  in  the  Fall  and  Catastrophe  by  the  might 
of  his  spirit.     His  Ghost  brings  terror  to  Brutus. 


Julius  Ct'esar  289 

His  spirit,  ranging  for  revenge,  turns  the  conspira- 
tors' swords  into  their  own  proper  entrails.  Thus, 
both  in  nature  and  in  construction,  the  Fall  or 
fourth  division  of  this  drama  is  the  counterpart  of 
the  Introduction  or  first  division.  The  former,  in 
both  particulars,  Complements  and  Balances  the 
latter. 

The  citizens,  variously  described  as  the  tag-rag 
people,  the  rabblemcnt,  the  common  herd,  a  rabble  of 
citizens,  their  worships,  constitute  in  this  play  the 
Environing  Action.  They  take  no  direct  part  in 
the  movement  of  the  play,  yet  they  exert  a  subtle, 
powerful,  continuous  influence  both  on  the  action 
and  on  the  counter-action.  They  aid  indirectly  in 
bringing  the  action  to  a  Climax;  also  in  starting  the 
counter-action  towards  the  Catastrophe.  When 
they  first  appear  it  is  to  make  holiday,  to  see  Ccesar 
and  to  rejoice  in  his  triumph.  Later,  as  Caesar  passes 
in  procession,  they  shout.  Brutus  on  hearing  this 
says: 

What  means  this  shouting  ?     I  do  fear,  the  people 
Choose  Caesar  for  their  king. 

Not  long  after  Brutus  hears 

Another  general  shout! 
He  says: 

I  do  believe  that  these  applauses  are 

For  some  new  honours  that  are  heap'd  on  Caesar. 

When  Antony  offered  the  crown  for  the  third 
time  to  Caesar, 

»9 


290  Shakespeare's  Plots 

The  rabblement  hooted  and  clapped  their  chapped 
hands  and  threw  up  their  sweaty  night-caps  and  uttered 
such  a  deal  of  stinking  breath  because  Caesar  refused  the 
crown  that  it  had  almost  choked  Caesar;  for  he  swounded 
and  fell  down  at  it. 

Cassius  recognized  the  invisible  but  potent  influ- 
ence of  the  mob  when  he  determined  to  throw  in  at 
Brutus'  windows, 

As  if  they  came  from  several  citizens, 
Writings  all  tending  to  the  great  opinion 
That  Rome  holds  of  his  name. 

The  infatuation  and  idolatry  of  the  Roman  mob 
for  Caesar  was,  in  Cassius'  opinion,  the  source  of  the 
danger  that  threatened  the  Republic. 

And  why  should  Caesar  be  a  tyrant  then  ? 
Poor  man!     I  know  he  would  not  be  a  wolf, 
But  that  he  sees  the  Romans  are  but  sheep: 
He  were  no  lion,  were  not  Romans  hinds. 

The  influence  of  the  mob,  and  the  advisability  of 
gaining  its  support  for  the  conspiracy,  is  recognized 
by  Brutus.  He  objects  to  killing  Antony  or  man- 
gling Caesar: 

This  shall  make 
Our  purpose  necessary  and  not  envious: 
Which  so  appearing  to  the  common  eyes, 
We  shall  be  call'd  purgers,  not  murderers. 

We  hear  no  more  of  the  mob  until  after  Caesar  has 
been  assassinated.  No  sooner  has  that  deed  been 
consummated  than  the  conspirators  begin  to  con- 


Julius  Caesar  291 

sider  its  effect  on  the  people.  In  order  that  that 
effect  may  not  be  injurious  to  them  personally,  or 
prejudicial  to  their  cause,  they  take  means  to  win 
the  support  of  the  people.     Cinna  says: 

Liberty!     Freedom!  Tyranny  is  dead! 

Run  hence,  proclaim,  cry  it  about  the  streets. 

Cassius  adds: 

Some  to  the  common  pulpits,  and  cry  out 
"  Liberty,  freedom,  and  enfranchisement." 

Brutus  commands: 

Stoop,  Romans,  stoop, 
And  let  us  bathe  our  hands  in  Crcsar's  blood 
Up  to  the  elbows,  and  besmear  our  swords: 
Then  walk  we  forth,  even  to  the  market-place, 
And,  waving  our  red  weapons  o'er  our  heads, 
Let  's  all  cry,  "  Peace,  freedom  and  liberty!  " 

Antony  likewise  is  aware  of  the  potent  influence 
of  the  mob,  and  he  also  attempts  to  gain  its  support. 
With  great  adroitness  he  makes  request  to  Brutus 

.     .     .     that  I  may 
Produce  his  body  to  the  market-place; 
And  in  the  pulpit,  as  becomes  a  friend, 
Speak  in  the  order  of  his  funeral. 

Cassius  immediately  recognizes  the  danger  and  pro- 
tests. Cassius'  warning  is  unheeded.  The  citfzens 
now  appear  in  the  Forum,  demanding 

We  will  be  satisfied;  let  us  be  satisfied. 


292  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Brutus  states  to  them  that 

.     .     .     public  reasons  shall  be  rendered 
Of  Caesar's  death. 

He  proceeds  to  address  them,  giving  reasons  to 
justify  the  assassination.  These  are  so  satisfactory 
that  the  citizens  approve  the  deed.  Brutus  then 
retires.  Antony,  who  has  come  to  the  Forum  with 
Caesar's  dead. body,  now  begins  to  speak.  He  ad- 
dresses  an  audience  which  is,  at  first,  unfriendly. 
The  citizens  have  been  completely  won  over  by 
Brutus.  One  says:  This  Ccesar  was  a  tyrant. 
Another  responds: 

.     .     .     Nay,  that  's  certain: 
We  are  blest  that  Rome  is  rid  of  him. 

Antony,  however,  by  his  eloquence  causes  a  change, 
at  first  gradual,  but  eventually  radical,  in  the  senti- 
ments of  the  mob.     It  reaches  the  determination  to 

burn  [Ccesar's]  body  in  the  holy  place, 
And  with  the  brands  fire  the  traitors'  houses. 

It  departs  with  the  body  breathing  threatenings 
and  slaughter  against  the  conspirators.  In  so  doing 
it  meets  Cinna  the  poet.  It  mistakes  him  for  Cinna 
the  conspirator,  and  immediately  threatens  to  tear 
him  to  pieces.  He  protests  he  is  not  Cinna  the  con- 
spirator, but  Cinna  the  poet.  Like  all  mobs,  this 
one  is  not  swayed  by  reason,  but  by  emotion. 

It  is  no  matter,  his  name  's  Cinna;  pluck  but  his  name 
out  of  his  heart,  and  turn  him  going. 


Julius  Caesar  293 

With  this  threat,  which  it  does  not  execute,  it 
makes  its  final  exit  from  the  play.     Shortly  after  this 
the  scene  of  the  action  is  removed  from  Rome,  and 
the  mob,  therefore,  does  not  again  appear.     Thus 
at  the  beginning  of  the  Fall,  as  at  the  beginning  of 
the  Introduction,   the  mob  appears  and  indirectly 
influences  the  movement  of  the  drama.     And  yet  it 
has  taken  no  direct  part  in  that  movement.     Dur- 
ing the  progress  of  the  action  it  appears  and  dis- 
appears, all  the  while,  whether  present  or  absent, 
exerting  a  subtle  and  continuous  influence  on  that 
action.     Its  devotion  to  Caesar  is,  in  the  opinion  of 
the  conspirators,  one  cause  of  his  dangerous  ambi- 
tion.    The  effect  of  that  devotion  on  the  conspira- 
tors  is   to  awaken   their   fears   for   the    Republic. 
While  plotting  the  murder  of  Caesar  the  conspirators 
considered    the    effect    of   the    deed   on    the    mob. 
After  Caesar's  murder,  they  appealed  to  the  same 
mob,  begging  its  approval.     The  avengers,  in  the 
person  of  Antony,  likewise  appealed  to  the  people, 
urging  them  to  condemn  and  to  avenge  the  deed. 
The  mob  is  taken  into  consideration  both  by  the 
conspirators  and  the  avengers.     Its  influence  upon 
both  is  silent,  puissant,  and  yet  it  takes  no  direct 
part  in  the  action  of  the  drama.     Like  the  Witches 
in  Macbeth,  the  Argosies  in  the  Merchant  of  Venice, 
it  is  outside  of  the  action  of  the  drama,  and  yet 
exerts  on  that  action   an   influence  which   aids  in 
bringing  it  first  to  a  Climax,  and  later  in  carrying 
it  forward  to  the  Catastrophe.     Such  is  the  function 
of  the   Environing   Action  in   a  drama;  and   that 
function,  in  this  play,  is  performed  by  the  mob. 


294  Shakespeare's  Plots 

After  Antony  had  spoken  for  some  time  at  Caesar's 
funeral  and  partially  won  the  sympathies  of  the  mob 
for  Caesar,  one  of  the  citizens  said: 

I  fear  there  will  a  worse  come  in  his  place. 

The  second  Scene  of  the  Fall  (IV.,  I)  presents  to  us 
those  who  did  come  in  Caesar's  place,  viz.,  Antony, 
Octavius,  Lepidus.  As  they  reveal  their  characters 
in  this  Scene  we  perceive  that  the  citizen's  misgiv- 
ing is  realized.  Lepidus  was  but  a  slight  unmerit- 
able  man.  Antony  compares  him  to  an  ass.  He 
was 

A  barren-spirited  fellow;  one  that  feeds 
On  objects,  arts  and  imitations, 
Which,  out  of  use  and  staled  by  other  men, 
Begin  his  fashion. 

By  the  force  of  circumstances  he  was  thrust  into  a 
position  which  he  was  unable  to  fill.  He  is  a  per- 
fect illustration  of  what  Shakespeare  elsewhere  says: 
To  be  called  into  a  huge  sphere,  and  not  to  be  seen  to 
move  in  7,  are  the  holes  where  eyes  should  be,  which 
pitifully  disaster  the  cheeks.1  After  having  spoken 
but  four  verses  he  is  sent  to  fetch  C&sar's  will.  He 
does  not  return.  He  has  taken  no  part  in  the 
action  of  the  drama.  His  dramatic  function  is  that 
of  a  Character-Foil.  The  difference  between  him, 
on  the  one  hand,  and  Antony  and  Octavius,  on  the 
other,  is  not  great  enough  to  cause  a  pronounced 
contrast.  He  is  much  like  them.  His  corporal  mo- 
tion is  governed  by  A  ntony's  spirit.    And  yet  between 

1  Antony  and  CUopatt a,  II.,  7,  15,  seq. 


Julius  Caesar  295 

them  there  is  difference  enough  to  bring  into  more 
vivid  light  the  characters  of  Antony  and  Octavius. 
Antony  while  strong  is  unscrupulous.      His  first 
effort  is  to  prevent  the  execution  of  Caesar's  will: 

,     .     .     we  shall  determine 
How  to  cut  off  some  charge  in  legacies. 

Octavius  alone  seems  to  possess  some  of  the  an- 
cient Roman  honor,  to  be  worthy  of  his  name. 
Surely  a  worse  has  come  in  Caesar's  place. 

Lepidus  is  the  counterpart  of  Casca.  In  the 
conspiracy  Casca  had  been,  after  Brutus  and  Cas- 
sius,  the  most  conspicuous  character.  Yet  he  was 
but  the  tool  of  Brutus  and  Cassius.  After  the  as- 
sassination he  retires,  and  does  not  again  appear. 
Lepidus  likewise,  as  I  have  said,  was  of  minor  im- 
portance. After  he  had  departed  to  fetch  Caesar's 
will  his  dramatic  life  ends.  This  leaves  only  An- 
tony and  Octavius  who  are  the  representatives  of 
the  counter-action,  and  who  are  the  counterparts  of 
Brutus  and  Cassius.  These  four  men  dominate  the 
after  part  of  the  play. 

After  the  Climax,  Trebonius,  Ligarius,  Decius 
Brutus,  Metellus  Cimber,  Cinna,  all  disappear  from 
the  drama.  Some  few  new  characters  are  intro- 
duced. It  is  a  canon  of  dramatic  construction  that 
no  new  character  of  great  importance  should  be  in- 
troduced after  the  Climax.  Those  who  first  appear 
in  the  after  part  of  this  play  are  either  friends  or 
servants  to  Brutus  and  Cassius.  Their  influence  on 
the  action  is  slight. 

At  the  close  of  this  Scene  (IV.,  1),  the  only  one 


296  Shakespeare's  Plots 

in  the  Fall  in  which  Antony  and  Octavius  appear, 
they  consult  as  to  plans  for  crushing  Brutus  and 
Cassius.     Antony  says: 

And  now,  Octavius, 
Listen  great  things: — Brutus  and  Cassius 
Are  levying  powers:  we  must  straight  make  head:  seq. 

Octavius  responds: 

Let  us  do  so:  for  we  are  at  the  stake, 

And  bay'd  about  with  many  enemies; 

And  some  that  smile  have  in  their  hearts,  I  fear, 

Millions  of  mischiefs. 

The  attention  of  the  spectator  is  thus  directed  to 
the  impending  Catastrophe.  He  is  prepared  for  the 
reaction,  which  from  the  Climax  gradually  increases 
in  force  until  it  becomes  ascendent. 

The  scene,  as  well  as  the  direction,  of  the  action 
is  now  changed.  At  the  close  of  Antony's  oration 
Brutus  and  Cassius  had  fled  from  Rome.  They 
next  appear  in  camp  near  Sardis.  Before  they  meet 
we  are  informed  (IV.,  2)  of  a  disagreement  between 
them.  Pindarus,  a  servant  of  Cassius,  brings  a 
letter  from  him  to  Brutus.  After  reading  it  Brutus 
says  to  Pindarus: 

Your  master,  Pindarus, 
Tn  his  own  change,  or  by  ill  officers, 
Hath  given  me  some  worthy  cause  to  wish 
Things  done,  undone:  but,  if  he  be  at  hand, 
I  shall  be  satisfied. 

A  moment  later  Cassius  arrives.     He  immediately 
and  frankly  upbraids  Brutus: 


Julius  Caesar  297 

Most  noble  brother,  you  have  done  me  wrong. 

Brutus  wisely  checks  Cassius: 

Cassius,  be  content; 
Speak  your  griefs  softly:  I  do  know  you  well. 
Before  the  eyes  of  both  our  armies  he4e, 
Which  should  perceive  nothing  but  love  from  us, 
Let  us  not  wrangle  :  bid  them  move  away; 
Then  in  my  tent,  Cassius,  enlarge  your  griefs, 
And  I  will  give  you  audience. 

The  armies  move  off  a  little  from  this  ground. 
Brutus  and  Cassius  retire  to  the  former's  tent, 
where  is  held  that  famous  discussion,  to  a  de- 
scription of  which  the  Fall  is  devoted. 

A  great  Scene,  such  as  this  Tent  Scene,  like  the 
drama  of  which  it  forms  a  portion,  consists  of  five 
parts.  First  comes  the  introduction,  in  which  we 
are  informed  of  a  previous  occurrence,  which  is  the 
cause  of  the  disagreement.     Cassius  said  to  Brutus: 

That  you  have  wrong'd  me  doth  appear  in  this  : 
You  have  condemn'd  and  noted  Lucius  Pella 
For  taking  bribes  here  of  the  Sardians  ; 
Wherein  my  letters,  praying  on  his  side, 
Because  I  knew  the  man,  were  slighted  off. 

The   quarrel   grows   by  Brutus    frankly   informing 
Cassius : 

.     .     .     you  yourself 
Are  much  condemn'd  to  have  an  itching  palm  ; 
To  sell  and  mart  your  offices  for  gold 
To  undeservers. 


298  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Further  that 

The  name  of  Cassius  honours  this  corruption, 
And  chastisement  doth  therefore  hide  his  head. 

Then  reverting  to  the  past,  Brutus  said : 

Remember  March,  the  ides  of  March  remember  : 

And  remember  also  the  deed  that  on  that  day  had 
been  perpetrated.     A  man, 

the  foremost  man  of  all  this  world, 

great  Julius,  had  been  slain.     What  motive  had  im- 
pelled the  murderers  ?     Justice. 

In  order  that  a  drama  possess  grandeur  and  dig- 
nity, it  is  necessary  that  the  motive  of  the  action  be 
worthy.  If  the  motive  of  Caesar's  murderers  had 
been  coarse  brutality  or  petty  malice,  the  deed 
would  have  been  unjustifiable,  the  drama  would 
have  lacked  grandeur.  Hence  Shakespeare  over 
and  over  again  attributes  noble  motives  to  the 
conspirators.  He  does  so  here  once  more.  He 
has  in  this,  however,  an  ulterior  motive,  vis.,  by 
contrast  to  show  the  unworthiness  of  Cassius'  con. 
duct: 

Did  not  great  Julius  bleed  for  justice'  sake  ? 
What  villain  touch'd  his  body,  that  did  stab, 
And  not  for  justice  ?     What,  shall  one  of  us, 
That  struck  the  foremost  man  of  all  this  world 
But  for  supporting  robbers,  shall  we  now 
Contaminate  our  fingers  with  base  bribes, 
And  sell  the  mighty  space  of  our  large  honours 


Julius  Caesar  299 

For  so  much  trash  as  may  be  grasped  thus  ? 
I  had  rather  be  a  dog,  and  bay  the  moon, 
Than  such  a  Roman. 

Cassius'  anger  becomes  more  and  more  aroused. 

Brutus,  bay  not  me  ; 
I  '11  not  endure  it  :  you  forget  yourself, 
To  hedge  me  in  ;   I  am  a  soldier,  I, 
Older  in  practice,  abler  than  yourself 
To  make  conditions. 

Brutus  denies  this.  ,  Cassius,  however,  is  right. 
Intense  emotion  on  the  part  of  both  these  men  dis- 
turbs the  intellectual  balance.  They  descend  to 
personalities. 

Cos.     Urge  me  no  more,  I  shall  forget  myself ; 
Have  mind  upon  your  health,  tempt  me  no  further. 
Bru.     Away,  slight  man  !  seq. 

Reason  again  resumes  sway. 

Bru.     You  say  you  are  a  better  soldier  : 
Let  it  appear  so  ;  make  your  vaunting  true, 
And  it  shall  please  me  well  :  for  mine  own  part, 
I  shall  be  glad  to  learn  of  noble  men. 

Cos.     You  wrong  me  every  way  ;  you  wrong  me, 
Brutus ; 
I  said,  an  elder  soldier,  not  a  better  : 
Did  I  say  'better'? 

Cassius  refers  to  Csesar.  Though  dead,  Caesar  was 
mighty  yet.  His  spirit,  ranging  for  revenge ;  over 
shadowed  the  conspirators.     Cassius  said : 


300  Shakespeare's  Plots 

When  Caesar  lived,  he  durst  not  thus  have  moved  me. 
Bru.     Peace,  peace  !  you  durst  not  so  have  tempted 

him. 
Cas.     I  durst  not  ! 
Bru.     No. 

Cas.     What,  durst  not  tempt  him  ! 
Bru.     For  your  life  you  durst  not. 

The  discussion  reaches  a  climax.  Feeling  becomes 
intense.  Anger  reaches  the  highest  development. 
Cassius  threatens  Brutus: 

Do  not  presume  too  much  upon  my  love  ; 
I  may  do  that  I  shall  be  sorry  for. 

Bru.     You  have  done  that  you  should  be  sorry  for. 
There  is  no  terror,  Cassius,  in  your  threats, 
For  I  am  arm'd  so  strong  in  honesty 
That  they  pass  by  me  as  the  idle  wind, 
Which  I  respect  not  :  sea. 

Anger  gives  way  to  grief,  which  is  followed  later 
by  reconciliation. 

Cas.  O,  I  could  weep 

My  spirit  from  mine  eyes  !     There  is  my  dagger, 
And  here  my  naked  breast  ;  within,  a  heart 
Dearer  than  Plutus'  mine,  richer  than  gold  : 
If  that  thou  be'st  a  Roman,  take  it  forth  ; 
I,  that  denied  thee  gold,  will  give  my  heart : 

Bru.  Sheathe  your  dagger  : 

Be  angry  when  you  will,  it  shall  have  scope ; 
Do  what  you  will,  dishonour  shall  be  humour. 

The   climax   of   this    discussion    has   now   been 
passed.     From  this  time  it  changes  its  direction. 


Julius  Caesar  301 

It  enters  upon  another  phase,  answering  to  the  Fall 
in  a  drama.  Like  the  latter,  it  is  episodic.  The 
discussion  temporarily  ceases.  It  is  interrupted  by 
the  entrance  of  a  poet,  who  reproaches  Brutus  and 
Cassius  for  their  unseemly  conduct. 

Poet.  For  shame,  you  generals  !  What  do  you  mean  ? 
Love,  and  be  friends,  as  two  such  men  should  be. 

Lucilius  and  Titinius  also  enter.  They  receive 
orders  from  Brutus  and  Cassius  as  to  the  lodgment 
of  their  troops.  Lucius  enters,  and  immediately 
retires  to  bring  a  bowl  of  wine.  Shakespeare  then 
informs  us  of  the  death  of  Portia.  In  the  most 
gentle  and  soothing  manner,  Cassius  said  to  Brutus: 

I  did  not  think  you  could  have  been  so  angry. 
Brutus  is  touched.     He  unbosoms  himself:- 

O  Cassius,  I  am  sick  of  many  griefs. 

Cas.     Of  your  philosophy  you  make  no  use, 
If  you  give  place  to  accidental  evils. 

Bru.     No  man  bears  sorrow  better.     Portia  is  dead. 

Cas.     Ha  !  Portia  ! 

Bru.     She  is  dead. 

Cas.     How  'scaped  I  killing  when  I  cross'd  you  so  ? 
O  insupportable  and  to  idling  loss  ! 
Upon  what  sickness  ? 

Bru.  Impatient  of  my  absence, 

And  grief  that  young  Octavius  with  Mark- Antony 
Have  made  themselves  so  strong  : — for  with  her  death 
That  tidings  came  ;— with  this  she  fell  distract, 
And,  her  attendants  absent,  swallow'd  fire. 


3Q2  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Cos.     And  died  so  ? 

Bru.  Even  so. 

Gas,  O  ye  immortal  gods  ! 

Lucius  enters  with  the  wine.  In  a  bowl  of  that 
Brutus  and  Cassius  bury  all  unkindriess.  Titinius 
and  Messala  enter.  We  are  informed  that  the 
avengers  have  begun  their  work.  By  proscription 
and  bills  of  outlawry,  Octavius,  Antony,  and  Lepi- 
dus  have  put  to  death  a  number  of  Senators; 
seventy,  according  to  Brutus'  letters,  one  hundred 
according  to  Messala's,  amongst  them  being  Cicero. 
Further,  that  the  avengers  are  marching  towards 
Philippi.  Reference  is  once  more  made  to  Portia's 
death,  and  this  division  of  the  Scene  ends. 

The  fifth  and  last  division  of  the  Scene  is  pros- 
pective. It  is  devoted  wholly  to  preparation  for  the 
impending  Catastrophe.     Brutus  begins  by  saying: 

Well,  to  our  work  alive.     What  do  you  think 
Of  marching  to  Philippi  presently  ? 

Cassius  dissents: 

'Tis  better  that  the  enemy  seek  us  :  seq. 

Cassius  yields.  Thus  another  has  been  added  to 
the  many  errors  of  the  conspirators. 

When  valour  preys  on  reason, 
It  eats  the  sword  it  fights  with.* 

Having  reached  this  decision,  Cassius  retires.  Be- 
fore he  did  so  Brutus,  bidding  him  farewell,  said: 

Noble,  noble  Cassius, 
Good  night,  and  good  repose. 

♦Antony  and  Cleopatra,  III.,  13,  199,  200. 


Julius  Caesar  303 

To  which  Cassius  responded  : 

O  my  dear  brother  ! 
This  was  an  ill  beginning  of  the  night  : 
Never  come  such  division  'tween  our  souls  ! 
Let  it  not,  Brutus. 

Thus,  this  Scene,  which,  when  viewed  either  by 
itself  alone,  or  as  a  component  part  of  the  play,  is  a 
masterpiece  of  dramatic  construction,  is  constructed 
in  the  shape  of  an  arch.  It  begins  in  a  disagree- 
ment, which  gradually  develops  into  a  passionate 
animosity,  and  as  gradually  subsides  into  reconcilia- 
tion, peace,  and  loving  friendship,  the  ultimate 
result  of  all  which  is  to  propel  the  action  of  the 
drama  towards  the  Catastrophe.  In  it — and  this  is 
its  principal  dramatic  function — Shakespeare  once 
more  reveals  to  us,  and  in  the  most  vivid  manner, 
the  characters  of  Brutus  and  Cassius.  We  see  in 
them  a  change.  Previous  to  the  assassination,  they 
were  noble  in  their  sentiments,  aggressive  in  their 
conduct.  They  now  have  become  irritable,  petu- 
lant, despondent.     Cassius 

could  weep  [his]  spirit  from  his  eyes. 

He  bares  his  breast,   offers  his  dagger  to  Brutus, 
and  entreats  him  to 

Strike,  as  thou  did'st  at  Caesar. 

Brutus,  likewise,  is  oppressed  with  sorrow: 

O,  Cassius,  I  am  sick  of  many  griefs. 

This  change  in  these  men  is  but  a  concomitant  of 
the  change  in  the  direction   of  the  action  of  the 


304  Shakespeare's  Plots 

drama.  It  foreshadows  approaching  doom.  It  is 
caused  by  that  Nemesis  which  is  rapidly  overtaking 
them. 

The  remainder  of  the  Fall  is  devoted  by  Shake- 
speare to  two  Episodes — that  of  Lucius  and  that  of 
Caesar's  ghost. 

The  first  of  these  Episodes  recalls — and  that  is 
Shakespeare's  purpose  in  introducing  it — the  night 
which  immediately  preceded  the  murder  of  Caesar. 
On  that  occasion,  as  now,  Lucius,  a  sleeping  boy, 
formed  a  contrast  to  the  disturbed  and  distressed 
condition  of  his  master.  At  the  close  of  the  Fall, 
like  a  recurring  sound  in  a  musical  composition, 
Shakespeare  repeats  this  motive.  Again,  the  plans 
of  the  conspirators  have  been  arranged;  again  it  is 
night,  a  night  preceding  violence  and  death. 
Brutus  asks  Lucius: 

Where  is  thy  instrument  ? 
What,  thou  speak'st  drowsily  ? 
Poor  knave,  I  blame  thee  not  ;  thou  art  o'erwatch'd. 

A  little  later  Brutus  inquires: 

Canst  thou  hold  up  thy  heavy  eyes  awhile, 
And  touch  thy  instrument  a  strain  or  two? 

The  boy  answers  in  the  affirmative.     Brutus   re. 
sponds: 

It  was  well  done  ;  and  thou  shalt  sleep  again  ; 

I  will  not  hold  thee  long  :  if  I  do  live, 

I  will  be  good  to  thee.     [Afusic,  arid  a  song. 

By  this  Episode  occurring  on  the  night  preceding 
the  deaths  of  Brutus  and  Cassius,  the  dramatist  re- 


Julius  Caesar  305 

calls  that  other  night,  which  preceded  the  death  of 
Ca:sar,  at  the  hands  of  these  very  men.  He  also, 
by  this  same  Episode,  gives  us  a  glimpse  of  the 
gentler  side  of  Brutus'  nature.  On  the  night  after 
the  exciting  quarrel  with  Cassius,  surrounded  by  his 
soldiers,  and  with  the  expectation  of  a  bloody,  prob- 
ably fatal,  conflict  on  the  next  day,  he  devotes  some 
time  to  hearing  music  and  to  reading.  Thus  does 
Shakespeare  make  the  fate  of  Brutus  more  pathetic. 

The  Episode  of  Lucius  was  reminiscent.  That 
of  Caesar's  ghost  is  prescient.  It  is  the  final  act  of 
the  dramatist  to  prepare  the  minds  of  the  spectators 
for  the  impending  Catastrophe. 

The  influence  of  the  spirit-world  on  living  men 
was  very  real  and  potent  amongst  the  Romans  in 
Caesar's  day,  and  also  in  England  in  the  sixteenth 
and  seventeenth  centuries.  Ghosts  of  murdered 
men  were  believed  to  appear  to  the  murderers.  It 
was  a  favorite  device  of  Shakespeare's  to  make  use 
of  ghost-like  apparitions.  On  the  night  preceding 
the  battle  of  Bosworth  Field,  the  ghosts  of  Prince 
Edward,  of  Henry  VI.,  of  Clarence,  of  Rivers,  Grey, 
Vaughan,  Hastings,  the  Young  Princes,  Queen 
Anne,  Buckingham,  all  appear  to  Richard  III. 

.     .     .     and  every  one  did  threat 
To-morrow's  vengeance  on  the  head  of  Richard. 

In  the  stillness  of  the  night,  while  all  but  Brutus 
are  asleep,  Caesar's  ghost  appears  to  Brutus  in  his 
tent: 

Speak  to  me  what  thou  art. 
Ghost.     Thy  evil  spirit,  Brutus. 


306  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Bru.     Why  comest  thou  ? 

Ghost.     To  tell  thee,  thou  shalt  see  me  at  Philippi. 

Bru.     Well ;  then  I  shall  see  thee  again  ? 

Ghost.     Ay,  at  Philippi. 

Bru.     Why,  I  will  see  thee  at  Philippi,  then. 

[Exit  Ghost. 
Now  I  have  taken  heart  thou  vanishest : 
111  spirit,  I  would  hold  more  talk  with  thee. 

Equally  guilty  with  Brutus  in  the  murder  of  Caesar 
was  Cassius.  In  fact,  Cassius  was  the  originator  of 
the  conspiracy.  It  was  owing  to  his  entreaty  that 
Brutus  joined  it.  And  yet  Caesar's  ghost  appeared 
not  to  Cassius,  but  only  to  Brutus.  Why  ?  Be- 
tween Brutus  and  Caesar  there  had  existed  the 
truest  friendship,  the  sincerest  affection.  So  real, 
indeed,  was  this  fact  that  Cassius  was  astonished 
that  Brutus  could  be  tempted  to  prove  unfaithful 
to  Caesar.  Brutus,  however,  -did  yield,  and  thus 
was  more  guilty  than  any  other  of  the  conspirators. 
His  ingratitude,  his  disloyalty,  more  than  any  of 
the  daggers,  killed  Caesar.  Hence  it  was  but  jus- 
tice, real,  as  well  as  poetic,  that  Caesar's  ghost 
should  appear  to  Brutus,  and  only  to  him. 

Sleeping  in  Brutus'  tent  are  Lucius,  the  boy; 
Varro  and  Claudius,  servants  to  Brutus.  The  ghost 
exerts  on  them  also  a  disturbing  influence.  The 
boy,  thinking  he  is  still  at  his  instrument,  awakens 
suddenly.     He  experiences  a  feeling  of  discord. 

The  strings,  my  lord,  are  false. 

So    was   the    judgment    of    the    conspirators.     As 
nothing  but  discord  results  from  false  strings  in  a 


Julius  Caesar  307 

musical  instrument,  so  from  the  mistaken  judgment 
and  conduct  of  the  conspirators  there  resulted 
naught  but  failure  and  death.  Varro  and  Claudius 
cry  out  in  their  sleep.  Brutus  orders  Varro  and 
Claudius: 

Go  and  commend  me  to  my  brother  Cassius  : 
Bid  him  set  on  his  powers  betimes  before, 
And  we  will  follow. 

The  battle  which  is  fought  the  next  day  forms  the 
subject  of  the  Catastrophe.  Every  preparation 
having  been  made  for  that,  the  Fall  ends. 

CATASTROPHE 


Early  in  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which  the 
battle  of  Philippi  was  fought,  Brutus  said  to  Cas- 
sius: 

But  this  same  day 
Must  end  that  work  the  ides  of  March  begun. 

The  Catastrophe  of  a  drama  is  the  natural  outcome 
of  all  the  preceding  parts  of  the  play."  In  Julius 
Cwsar  the  Catastrophe  is  devoted  to  a  representa- 
tion of  the  battle  of  Philippi  and  its  results.  That 
battle  was  the  remote  but  direct  consequence  of  the 
work  the  ides  of  March  begun  ;  vis.,  the  assassination 
of  Caesar.  And  that  in  turn  was  the  outgrowth  of 
the  conspiracy.  Thus  we  perceive  this  drama  to  be 
organic.  Each  part  is  in  vital  union  with  every 
other  part,  and  all  together  form  an  organic  whole. 


308  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Against  the  judgment  of  Cassius,  Brutus  and  he 
decided  to  march  to  Philippi.  They  thus  did 
exactly  what  Antony  and  Octavius  hoped  they 
would  do.  The  Catastrophe  begins  by  recounting 
this  fact.     Octavius  said  : . 

Now,  Antony,  our  hopes  are  answered  :  seq. 

So  mistaken  from  the  standpoint  of  generalship  was 
this  decision  of  Brutus  and  Cassius  that  Antony 
attributes  it  to  bravado. 

Tut,  I  am  in  their  bosoms,  and  I  know 

Wherefore  they  do  it :  they  could  be  content 

To  visit  other  places  ;  and  come  down 

With  fearful  bravery,  thinking  by  this  face 

To  fasten  in  our  thoughts  that  they  have  courage  ; 

But  'tis  not  so. 

Antony  and  Octavius  arrange  their  plan  of  battle, 
Octavius  taking  the  right,  Antony  the  left.  The 
conspirators  and  their  army  now  appear  on  the 
battle-field. 

Brutus  advances  and  suggests  a  conference. 

Words  before  blows  :  is  it  so,  countrymen  ? 

Brutus'  intention  was,  if  possible,  to  effect  a  re- 
conciliation. His  advances,  however,  were  ruth- 
lessly rejected.  Antony  charges  him  with  the 
murder  of  Caesar: 

Witness  the  hole  you  made  in  Caesar's  ht- 
Crying,  "  Long  live  !  hail,  Caesar  !  " 

and  again,  addressing  Cassius  as  well  as  Brutus: 


Julius  Caesar  3°9 

Villains,  you  did  not  so,  when  your  vile  daggers 
Hack'd  one  another  in  the  sides  of  Caesar  :  seq. 

Cassius  now  recalls  to  Brutus  his  advice  regarding 
Antony: 

I  think  it  is  not  meet, 
Mark  Antony,  so  well  beloved  of  Caesar, 
Should  outlive  Caesar : 

Let  Antony  and  Caesar  fall  together. 

Brutus,  with  mistaken  kindness,  had  rejected  this 
proposition.  Antony  was  allowed  to  live.  Cassius 
now  says  to  Brutus: 

Now,  Brutus,  thank  yourself  : 
This  tongue  had  not  offended  so  to-day, 
If  Cassius  might  have  ruled. 

To  Antony's  words  Octavius  adds  his  own  decla- 
ration of  war  against  the  conspirators: 

Look  ; 
I  draw  a  sword  against  conspirators  ;  seq. 

Antony,  Octavius,  and  their  army,  now  retire. 
The  next  time  they  appear  it  is  to  fight. 

Before  they  do  so,  however,  Shakespeare  recounts 
two  conversations,  one  between  Cassius  and  Mes- 
sala,  the  other  between  Cassius  and  Brutus.  In 
both  of  these  conversations  the  result  of  that  con- 
flict, so  disastrous  to  the  conspirators,  is  fore- 
shadowed. 

In  the  first,  Cassius  calls  Messala  to  witness  that 
he  opposed  Brutus'   plan  of  marching  to  Philippi, 


310  Shakespeare's  Plots 

and  staking  fortune  on  the  result  of  one  battle. 
Pompey  had  made  that  mistake  at  Pharsalia.  It 
had  resulted  in  his  ruin.  Cassius  then  refers  to  his 
former  belief  in  Epicurus.1  Epicurus  rejected  Fatal- 
ism, the  doctrine  of  the  Stoics.  He  believed  that 
in  human  conduct  there  is  no  absolutely  controlling 
necessity.  Cassius  now  changes  his  mind.  He 
accepts  a  belief  in  Fatalism.  Two  mighty  eagles 
which  had  accompanied  the  army  to  Philippi  had 
flown  away,  and  in  their  places  had  come  ravens, 
crows,  kites.  The  eagle  had  been  selected  as  the 
standard  of  the  Raman  army.  It  was  considered  a 
bird  of  good  omen.  The  Soothsayer  in  Cymbeline 
said: 

I  saw  Jove's  bird,  the  Roman  eagle,  wing'd 
From  the  spongy  south  to  this  part  of  the  west, 
There  vanish'd  in  the  sunbeams  :  which  portends — 
Unless  my  sins  abuse  my  divination — 
Success  to  the  Roman  host. 

Ravens,  crows,  and  kites  were  birds  of  evil  omen. 
To  Cassius 

.  .  .  their  shadows  seem 
A  canopy  most  fatal,  under  which 
Our  army  lies,  ready  to  give  up  the  ghost. 

He,  however,  resolves 

To  meet  all  perils  very  constantly. 

1  "  The  Epicurean  condensed  his  gospel  into  four  maxims  :  '  God 
is  not  to  be  feared  ;  death  cannot  be  felt  ;  the  Good  can  be  won;  all 
that  we  dread  can  be  borne  and  conquered.'  " — Murray,  Ancient 
Creek  Literature,  p.  373. 


Julius  Caesar  3IT 

Brutus  is  to  die  by  suicide.  In  order  to  fore- 
shadow that,  and  thereby  increase  the  suspense  of 
the  spectator,  Cassius  now  turns  to  Brutus,  and  asks 
him,  in  case  we  lose  this  battle, 

What  are  you  then  determined  to  do  ? 

At  first  Brutus  rejects  the  notion  of  suicide.  He 
will  bear  misfortune,  if  that  comes.  When  Cassius 
inquires  if  he  is  willing  to  be  led  in  triumph  through 
the  streets  of  Rome,  Brutus  reverses  this  decision : 

No,  Cassius,  no  :  think  not,  thou  noble  Roman, 
That  ever  Brutus  will  go  bound  to  Rome  ; 
He  bears  too  great  a  mind. 

These  two  men  now  bid  each  other  farewell.  They 
never  again  meet. 

The  remainder  of  the  Catastrophe  is  devoted  to 
the  representation  of  the  battle  of  Philippi,  its  vary- 
ing fortunes,  its  result. 

The  right  wing  of  the  conspirators'  army  was  com- 
manded by  Brutus.  Opposed  to  him  was  Octavius. 
On.  the  left  was  Cassius,  who  was  confronted  by 
Antony.  Brutus  ordered  his  force  to  charge.  It 
was  victorious,  and  drove  back  Octavius.  The  re- 
sult was  that  one  side  of  Cassius'  force  was  left 
unguarded.  Antony  took  advantage  of  this,  and 
surrounded  Cassius'  army.  Cassius  retreats  some 
distance,  and  takes  refuge  on  the  top  of  a  hill.  He 
sends  Titinius  to  see 

Whether  yond  troops  are  friend  or  enemy. 

Believing   that  Titinius  is  taken  prisoner,   Cassius 


312  Shakespeare's  Plots 

immediately  loses  heart.  He  resolves  on  self- 
destruction.  When  Pindarus  comes  down,  Cassius 
says : 

Come  hither,  sirrah  : 

In  Parthia  did  I  take  thee  prisoner ; 

And  then  I  swore  thee,  saving  of  thy  life, 

That  whatsoever  I  did  bid  thee  do, 

Thou  shouldst  attempt  it.     Come  now,  keep  thine  oath  ; 

Now  be  a  freeman  :  and  with  this  good  sword, 

That  ran  through  Caesar's  bowels,  search  this  bosom. 

Messala  had  informed  Brutus  of  the  death  of  Cas- 
sius. Brutus  then  prepares  to  renew  the  conflict. 
His  force  assaults  the  enemy.  Cato  is  overpowered 
and  falls.  Then  Lucilius  is  attacked.  He  assumes 
Brutus'  name.  Supposing  him  to  be  Brutus  the 
soldier  does  not  kill  him,  but  takes  him  prisoner. 
Antony  now  arrives.  He  recognizes  Lucilius,  and 
orders  that  he  be  treated  kindly.  In  another  part 
of  the  field  are  Brutus,  Dardanius,  Clitus,  Strato, 
and  Volumnius.  Brutus  recognizes  the  fact  that 
defeat  is  inevitable.  He  is  full  of  grief.  He  de- 
cides to  commit  suicide.     To  Clitus  he  said: 

.     .     .     slaying  is  the  word  ; 
It  is  a  deed  in  fashion. 

And  to  Volumnius: 

The  ghost  of  Caesar  hath  appear'd  to  me 
Two  several  times  by  night  ;  at  Sardis  once, 
And,  this  last  night,  here  in  Philippi  fields: 
I  know  my  hour  is  come. 


Julius  Caesar  313 


And  again 


Our  enemies  have  beat  us  to  the  pit : 
It  is  more  worthy  to  leap  in  ourselves, 
Than  tarry  till  they  push  us. 

He  proposes  to  Clitus,  then  to  Dardanius,  afterward 
to  Volumnius,  to  kill  him.  The  danger  increases. 
The  avengers  press  them  so  closely  it  becomes  neces- 
sary to  fly.  Clitus,  Dardanius,  and  Volumnius  do 
so.  Brutus  and  Strato  alone  remain.  To  the  latter 
Brutus  said : 

Hold  then  my  sword,  and  turn  away  thy  face, 
While  I  do  run  upon  it.     Wilt  thou,  Strato  ? 
Farewell,  good  Strato. — Caesar,  now  be  still : 
I  kill'd  not  thee  with  half  so  good  a  will. 

And  then,  running  on  his  sword,  Brutus  dies.  Lu- 
cilius  had  told  Antony. 

.     .     .     that  no  enemy 
Shall  ever  take  alive  the  noble  Brutus  : 
The  gods  defend  him  from  so  great  a  shame! 
When  you  do  find  him,  or  alive  or  dead, 
He  will  be  found  like  Brutus,  like  himself. 

And  that  prediction  was  fulfilled.  All  the  conspira- 
tors save  Brutus  and  Cassius  had  fled.  Brutus  and 
Cassius  being  dead,  Caesar's  death  had  been  avenged. 
Magnanimity  toward  Brutus  now  fills  the  breasts  of 
Antony  and  Octavius.  The  former  pays  the  highest 
tribute  to  Brutus'  character.  The  latter  arranges 
for  rites  of  burial  such  as  shall  be  worthy  of  him. 
The  Catastrophe  of  this  play  is  not  so  much  tragic 


314  Shakespeare's  Plots 

as   pathetic.     While   the   spectator   feels  that  the 
deaths  of  Brutus  and  Cassius  are  the  legitimate  re- 
sult of  the  assassination  of  Caesar,  still  these  deaths, 
particularly   that   of   Brutus,    evoke   pity.     In   this 
respect  this  Catastrophe  is  like  that  of  Romeo  and 
Juliet,  and  unlike  those  ol Richard  III.  and  Macbeth. 
The  reason  of  this  is  that  Brutus'  conduct  was  the 
result,  not  of  a  murderous  ambition,  but  of  a  mis- 
taken sense  of  duty.     His  motive  was  the  purest  pa- 
triotism.    So  intense,  so  genuine,  was  his  patriotism 
that  it  would  lead  Brutus  to  sacrifice  to  the  welfare 
of  the  Republic  not  only  Caesar,  but  also  himself. 
Antony  believed  this,  and  so  stated  in  his  eulogy  of 
Brutus.     While  Brutus'  motive  was  noble,  still   it 
was  mistaken.     His  conduct,  from  the  first  to  the 
last  deed,  was  a  series  of  errors.     His  decision  to 
join  the  conspiracy  was  the  result  of  the  most  illogi- 
cal reasoning.     He  sacrifices  his  best  friend  for  fear 
that   that   friend,   in  the   future,    may   destroy   the 
liberties  of  the  Roman  people.     This,  the  primary 
mistake,  is  followed  by  a  series  of  others;  viz.,  re- 
fusal to  allow  the  conspirators  to  swear  their  resolu- 
tion ;  neglect  to  invite  Cicero  to  join  the  conspiracy ; 
neglect  tc  kill  Antony.     These  negative  errors  are 
followed  by  positive  ones  as  ruinous;  viz.,  allowing 
Antony  to  speak  at  Caesar's  funeral ;  quarrelling  with 
Cassius;  marching  to  Philippi  to  meet  Antony  and 
Octavius,    and  staking    everything  on  that  battle; 
giving  too  early  the  word  to  assault  Octavius.     To 
all  these  must  be  added  Cassius'  mistake  in  sup- 
posing Titinius  taken  prisoner,  and,  as  a  result,  his 
own  suicide.     The  conspiracy  failed.     Cassius  and 


Julius  Caesar  315 

Brutus  meet  their  deaths,  not  as  the  result  of  inten- 
tional wrong-doing,  but  because  of  a  misguided  and 
erroneous  judgment, —  of  error.  As  Messala  ex- 
presses it : 

O  hateful  error,  melancholy's  child, 

Why  dost  thou  show  to  the  apt  thoughts  of  men 

The  things  that  are  not?     O  error,  soon  conceived, 

Thou  never  comest  unto  a  happy  birth, 

But  kill'st  the  mother  that  engender'd  thee. 

Hence  in  the  Catastrophe  of  this  play  there  is  an 
utter  absence  of  remorse.  As  a  consequence  it  is 
not  so  much  tragic  as  pathetic.  It  is  the  presence 
of  remorse  in  the  last  experiences  of  Richard  III., 
and  of  Lord  and  Lady  Macbeth,  which  constitutes 
their  keenest  anguish,  and  which  makes  the  Catas- 
trophes of  the  dramas  portraying  their  experiences 
so  profoundly  tragic.  Both  Richard  III.  and  the 
Macbeths  deliberately  dedicated  themselves  '  to 
murder.  As  a  consequence  they  suffered  the  in- 
tensest  agony  of  remorse.  Unlike  both  of  them  in 
this  respect,  but  like  that  of  Julius  Cczsar,  is  the 
Catastrophe  of  Romeo  and  Juliet.  In  the  cases  both 
of  Romeo  and  of  Juliet  their  deaths  were  the  result, 
not  of  any  wrong-doing,  but  of  mistakes.  Juliet 
had  been  married  to  Romeo.  As  she  told  Friar 
Laurence: 

God  join'd  my  heart  and  Romeo's,  thou  our  hands. 

Ignorant  of  this  fact,  her  father  had  determined  that 
she  should  marry  the  County  Paris.     In  order  to 


316  Shakespeare's  Plots 

prevent  that,  and,  as  she  expressed  it,  that  she 
might 

live  an  unstained  wife  to  my  sweet  love, 

she  seeks  Friar  Laurence.  It  is  Tuesday.  Thurs- 
day, by  her  father's  command,  she  is  to  be  married 
to  the  County  Paris.  The  Friar  gives  her  a  sleep- 
ing potion,  the  effect  of  which  would  be  to  cause  a 
sleep  resembling  death,  and  lasting  two-and-forty 
hours.     . 

Now,  when  the  bridegroom  in  the  morning  comes 

To  rouse  thee  from  thy  bed,  there  art  thou  dead  : 

Then,  as  the  manner  of  our  country  is, 

In  thy  best  robes  uncover'd  on  the  bier 

Thou  shalt  be  borne  to  that  same  ancient  vault 

Where  all  the  kindred  of  the  Capulets  lie. 

In  the  mean  time,  against  thou  shalt  awake, 

Shall  Romeo  by  my  letters  know  our  drift, 

And  hither  shall  he  come  :  and  he  and  I 

Will  watch  thy  waking,  and  that  very  night 

Shall  Romeo  bear  thee  hence  to  Mantua. 

And  this  shall  free  thee  from  this  present  shame. 

The  plan  miscarried.  Friar  John,  who  bore  the 
letter  to  Romeo,  was  detained  in  Mantua.  In  the 
meantime  Romeo  hears  of  Juliet's  supposed  death. 
Balthasar  informs  him 

Her  body  sleeps  in  Capel's  monument, 
And  her  immortal  part  with  angels  lives. 

Romeo  immediately  returns  to  Verona;  goes  to  the 
tomb;    finds    Juliet    there,    apparently   dead.     Be- 


Julius  Caesar  317 

lieving  her  really  dead  he  takes  poison,  and,  kissing 
her,  dies.  A  little  later,  Juliet  awakens.  She  finds 
Romeo's  dead  body  lying  beside  her.  She  seizes 
his  dagger,  and  stabs  herself  fatally.  Both  these 
deaths  are  the  result  of  mistakes.  They  are  mis- 
adventured  piteous.  Hence  in  the  Catastrophe  there 
is  an  absence  of  remorse.  The  fates  of  Romeo  and 
of  Juliet  are  not  so  much  tragic  as  pathetic. 

Such,  also,  is  the  nature  of  the  Catastrophe  of  this 
play.  Its  dominant  characteristic  is  pathos.  Poetic 
Just.ice  demanded  that  Caesar's  death  should  be 
avenged.  And  so  it  was.  Portia,  Cassius,  Brutus, 
all  commit  suicide.  In  these  deaths  all  unkindness 
is  buried.  Brutus  erred  not  through  evil  intent  but 
mistaken  judgment.  This  fact  was  perceived  by 
all.  Of  the  rectitude  of  his  purposes  he  himself 
was  fully  cognizant.  As  his  death  approached  none 
but  the  kindest  feelings  toward  his  fellow-men  filled 
his  breast. 

Countrymen, 
My  heart  doth  joy  that  yet  in  all  my  life 
I  found  no  man  but  he  was  true  to  me. 

His  reputation  as  a  patriot  he  felt  was  secure. 

I  shall  have  glory  by  this  losing  day 
More  than  Octavius  and  Mark  Antony 
By  this  vile  conquest  shall  attain  unto. 

Not  once  does  he  express  the  least  regret  for  his 
part  in  Caesar's  death.  Rather  he  gloried  in  it,  and 
felt  with  Cassius  that,  so  often  as 


318  Shakespeare's  Plots 

this  our  lofty  scene  [shall]  be  acted  over 
In  states  unborn  and  accents  yet  unknown  ! 

So  often  shall  the  knot  of  us  be  call'd 
The  men  that  gave  their  country  liberty. 

Borne  down  by  forces  beyond  his  control,  he  ac- 
cepted  his  fate  with  resignation,  nay,  more,  with 
cheerfulness.  He  was  not  practical.  As  a  con- 
spirator, a  soldier,  he  was  a  failure.  He  was  an 
idealist.  To  his  high  ideals  he  was  ever  true.  As  a 
consequence,  though  unsuccessful,  he  died  com- 
manding the  respect  and  admiration  both  of  his 
friends  and  foes.  After  his  death  Antony  and  Oc- 
tavius  gave  expression  to  this  in  their  eulogies 
with  which  the  play  ends: 

Antony.     This  was  the  noblest  Roman  of  them  all  : 
All  the  conspirators  save  only  he 
Did  that  they  did  in  envy  of  great  Caesar ; 
He  only,  in  a  general  honest  thought 
And  common  good  to  all,  made  one  of  them. 
His  life  was  gentle,  and  the  elements 
So  mix'd  in  him  that  Nature  might  stand  up 
And  say  to  all  the  world  "  This  was  a  man  !  " 

Octavius.     According  to  his  virtue  let  us  use  him, 
With  all  respect  and  rites  of  burial. 
Within  my  tent  his  bones  to-night  shall  lie, 
Most  like  a  soldier,  ordered  honourably. 


T 


CHAPTER  VI 

TWELFTH  NIGHT 

HE    note   that   vibrates   through   this   play   is 
struck  in  the  opening  verse: 

If  music  be  the  food  of  love,  play  on. 


The  dramatic  motive,  the  exciting  force  of  this 
drama,  is  love.  As  the  clouds  are  driven  by  the 
wind,  the  waves  of  the  sea  by  the  hurricane,  so  the 
characters  in  Twelfth  Night  are  dominated  and  pro- 
pelled by  the  master-passion.  The  Duke  is  in  love 
with  Olivia.  Viola  (Cesario)  falls  in  love  with  the 
Duke.  When  Olivia  first  sees  Cesario  she  loses  her 
heart.     These  are  the  characters  in  the  Main  Action. 

It  is  a  canon  of  art  that  every  minor,  every  special 
effect  in  a  work  of  art  reflects  and  emphasizes  the 
general  effect.  When  applied  to  a  drama  this 
means  that  the  characters  in  the  Sub-Actions  re- 
flect, more  or  less,  those  by  whom  the  Main  Action 
is  carried  forward.  They  are  controlled,  not,  how- 
ever, to  the  same  degree,  by  similar  thoughts  and 
emotions. 

In  this  play  the  actors  in  the  Sub-Actions,  like 
those  in  the  Main  Action,  are  in  love.  Malvolio  is 
a  suitor  for  Olivia's  hand.  So  is  Sir  Andrew  Ague- 
cheek.      Sir    Toby's    admiration    for    Maria's   wit 

3*9 


320  Shakespeare's  Plots 

develops  into  a  feeling  of  affection;  while  she,  if  we 
are  to  believe  Sir  Toby,  adores  him. 

Even  some  of  the  men  are  in  love  with  each 
other.  Antonio  gives  to  Sebastian  his  love,  without 
retention  or  restraint.  Although  he  goes  to  the 
Duke  Orsino's  court  at  the  risk  of  his  life,  in  order 
to  be  with  Sebastian,  he  determines  to  assume  that 
risk. 

But,  come  what  may,  I  do  adore  thee  so, 
That  danger  shall  seem  sport,  and  I  will  go. 

Antonio's  love  is  reciprocated  by  Sebastian. 
After  his  fruitless  search  for  Antonio,  when  Sebas- 
tian met  him,  he  said: 

Antonio,  O  my  dear  Antonio  ! 

How  have  the  hours  rack'd  and  tortured  me, 

Since  I  have  lost  thee  ! 

In  fact,  in  this  play,  as  the  Clown  sings: 
Journeys  end  in  lovers  meeting. 

This,  then,  being  a  love  comedy,  Shakespeare  in 
the  opening  verse  touches  the  emotional  chord  that 
vibrates  through  it. 

He  still  further  manifests  his  perfect  technique  by 
his  reference  in  that  verse  to  music: 

If  music  be  the  food  of  love  :  seq. 

Of  all  the  arts  music  pre-eminently  expresses  and 
interprets  human  emotion.  It  is  the  universal  Ian- 
guage  of  the  soul.     It  appeals  primarily  not  to  the 


Twelfth  Night  321 

intellect  but  to  the  heart;  it  gives  expression  not  so 
much  to  thought,  perception,  memory,  as  to  feeling. 
The  whole  gamut  of  the  emotions  is  struck  by  it.' 
It  expresses  joy,  sorrow,  triumph.  It  soothes  the 
disturbed  spirit;  promotes  serenity,  tranquillity. 

Music  that  gentler  on  the  spirit  lies, 
Than  tired  eyelids  upon  tired  eyes.' 

The  music  of  Ariel's  song,  says  Ferdinand, 

.     .     crept  by  me  upon  the  waters, 
Allaying  both  their  fury  and  my  passion 
With  its  sweet  air. 

But,  above  all,  it  expresses  the  master-passion. 
Valentine  asks: 

Why,  how  know  you  that  I  am  in  love? 

Speed  replies: 

Marry,  by  these  special  marks  :  first,  you  have  learned 
.     .     .     to  relish  a  love-song,  like  a  robin-redbreast. 

Viola  says  music 

.     .     .     gives  a  very  echo  to  the  seat 
Where  Love  is  throned. 

According  to  Biron,  Dan  Cupid  is  the 

Regent  of  love-rhymes. 

As  love  is  the  dramatic  motive,  the  exciting  force 
of  this  play,  and  as  music,  more  perfectly  than  any 

1  Cf.   Knight,   The  Philosophy  of  the  Beautiful,  Part  II.,  p.  129, 
sea.     Raymond,  Art  in  Theory,  p.  207,  sea, 
'Tennyson,   The  Lotos-Eaters. 


322  Shakespeare's  Plots 

other  art,  expresses  love,  Shakespeare  has  pervaded 
the  play  with  a  lyrical  element.  It  is  filled  with 
music,  both  instrumental  and  vocal,  the  burden  of 
which  is: 

What  is  love  ?  't  is  not  hereafter  ; 
Present  mirth  hath  present  laughter  ; 

What  's  to  come  is  still  unsure  : 
In  delay  there  lies  no  plenty  ; 
Then  come  kiss  me,  sweet  and  twenty, 

Youth  *s  a  stuff  will  not  endure. 

The  play  opens  with  the  Duke's  request  for  music. 
It  closes  with  the  Clown's  song. 

Love  may  be  either  tragic  or  comic.  In  Romeo 
and  Juliet,  Shakespeare  portrays  the  former;  in  this 
play  it  is  the  comic  side  of  love,  its  oddities,  freaks, 
foibles,  which  Shakespeare  portrays.  In  harmony 
with  this  the  scene  of  action  is  a  breezy,  boisterous, 
disorderly,  jolly,  world.  Gay  and  hot  spirits  get 
into  mischief,  and  play  mad  pranks.  The  life  which 
the  play  portrays  is  sensuous,  animated,  hilarious. 
It  was  written  to  be  played  the  twelfth  night  after 
Christmas,  which,  in  England,  in  Shakespeare's  day, 
was  a  season  of  revelry.  There  is  in  it  an  almost 
complete  absence  of  the  tragic.  Olivia  mourns  for 
a  dead  father  and  brother;  Viola  grieves  for  the 
supposed  death  of  her  brother;  he,  in  turn,  weeps 
for  her,  whom  he  believes  to  be  drowned;  Sir  An- 
drew's head  is  broke  across ;  Sir  Toby  has  a  bloody 
coxcomb.  These,  however,  are  but  passing  shadows, 
which  give  the  play,  at  times,  a  sombre  hue,  and 
which,   by  contrast,  bring  into  brighter  light,  and 


Twelfth  Night  323 

make  more  vivid,  the  humor  and  happiness  which 
pervade  it.  No  one  in  it  is  cynical  or  brutal.  The 
foibles  which  it  portrays  are  not  harmful,  distress- 
ing, but  are  harmless,  kindly,  innocent,  and  such  as 

May  rather  pluck  on  laughter  than  revenge. 

The  characters  divide  themselves  into  three 
groups.  In  every  work  of  art  there  are  many  factors. 
Each  factor  in  itself  is  important,  and  must  aid  in 
producing  the  general  effect.  In  order  to  make  the 
work  of  art  more  effective  and  suggestive,  these 
factors  are  frequently  grouped.1  In  this  play  there 
are  three  groups: 

The  Ducal  Group;  composed  of  the  Duke,  Val- 
entine,  Curio. 

The  Olivia  Group;  composed  of  Olivia,  her  rela- 
tives and  dependents.  This  group  includes,  besides 
Olivia,  Maria,  her  waiting-woman,  Sir  Toby  Belch, 
her  kinsman,  Sir  Andrew  Aguecheek,  her  wooer, 
Malvolio,  her  steward,  Fabian,  and  Feste  the 
Clown. 

The  Third  Group:  Sebastian  and  Antonio. 

Between  these  groups,  more  or  less  disconnected 
with  all  of  them,  is  Viola.  She  is  high-born,  beau- 
tiful, intellectually  keen,  appreciative  of  fun,  gra- 
cious and  lovely.  She  is  the  heroine  of  the  play. 
She  is  the  principal  Complicating,  and  also  the 
principal  Resolving,  force  in  the  drama.  This  is  her 
primary  dramatic  function. 

She  is  also  a  Link-Person.  A  Link-Person  in  a 
play  is  a  dramatic  hook  and  eye.     The  function  of 

1  Cf,  Raymond,  The  Genesis  of  Art-Form,  pp.  97-124. 


\7 


324  Shakespeare's  Plots 

such  a  character  is  to  bring  together  the  different 
dramatis  persona.  Viola  is  the  Duke's  messenger 
to  Olivia.  As  she  herself  says,  describing  her 
dramatic  life  after  she  was  saved,  and 

.     .     .     preserved  to  serve  this  noble  count. 
All  the  occurrence  of  my  fortune  since 
Hath  been  between  this  lady  [Olivia],  and  this  lord  [the 
Duke], 

Still  another  dramatic  function  which  Viola  fulfils 
is,  she  is  Shakespeare's  Type  of  the  Normal.  As 
such  she  represents  and  embodies  the  normal,  from 
which  all  the  other  characters  have  deviated.  In 
this  respect  she  is  a  perfect  contrast  to  the  other 
characters.  The  Duke,  Olivia,  Maria,  Sir  Toby, 
Malvolio,  and  the  others  are  creatures  of  impulse. 
They  are  deficient  in  self-control.  They  know  no 
law  but  their  own  wills  and  desires.  The  Duke  is 
not  so  much  in  love  as  he  is  lovesick.  The  same 
is  true  of  Olivia.  She  herself  confesses  she  is  as 
mad  as  Malvolio, 

If  sad  and  merry  madness  equal  be. 

Sir  Toby  and  the  other  persons  in  the  Olivia 
Group,  excepting,  of  course,  the  Countess,  are  cor- 
rectly characterized  by  Malvolio  as  the  lighter  people. 
While  they  are  innocent,  free  from  malice,  they  are 
vulgar,  sensuous,  boisterous,  and,  as  Olivia  said  of 
Sir  Toby,  are 

Fit  for  the  mountains  and  the  barbarous  caves, 
Where  irianners  ne'er  were  preach'd  ! 


Twelfth  Night  325 

Their  ideal  of  life  is  like  that  of  Gratiano: 

Let  me  play  the  fool : 
With  mirth  and  laughter  let  old  wrinkles  come, 
And  let  my  liver  rather  heat  with  wine 
Than  my  heart  cool  with  mortifying  groans. 

Between  the  groups,  passing  and  repassing  from 
one  to  the  other,  and  in  perfect  contrast  to  those 
who  compose  them,  Shakespeare  has  placed  Viola. 
She  is  a  passionate,  romantic  girl.  She  possesses 
all  the  delicacy  and  refinement  of  a  true,  high-bred 
woman.  She  is  deeply  in  love  with  the  Duke. 
Her  love,  however,  is  not  a  mere  whim  or  caprice, 
not  an  ungoverned  and  unreasoning  passion,  as  is 
that  of  the  Duke,  Olivia,  and  the  others,  but  is  full- 
grown  and  ardent.  It  is  a  true,  sincere,  heartfelt, 
and,  withal,  controlled  affection. 

INTRODUCTION 
I.,  1-4 

At  the  opening  of  the  first  Scene,  the  Duke,  in  a 
monologue,  reveals  his  emotional  condition.  He 
apostrophizes  the  spirit  of  love.  He  also  reveals 
the  object  of  his  love,  Olivia,  and  informs  the  spec- 
tator that  he  has  been  in  love  with  her  from  the 
time  his  eyes  did  first  see  her. 

Valentine,  a  gentleman  waiting  on  the  Duke,  who 
has  been  sent  by  him  on  a  mission  to  Olivia,  now 
enters,  and  reports  the  result.  He  gives  quite  a 
detailed  account  of  Olivia,  which  is  the  dramatic 
function  of  Valentine's  words.  From  him  the 
spectator  learns  that 


326  Shakespeare's  Plots 

.     .     .     to  season 
A  brother's  dead  love 

Olivia  has  withdrawn  from  society  for  seven  years, 
and  that  she  does 

.     .     .     water  once  a  day  her  chamber  round 
With  eye-offending  brine. 

From  Olivia's  devotion  to  the  memory  of  her 
brother,  the  Duke  infers  what  will  be  her  loyalty  to 
an  affianced  lover.  The  Scene  closes  with  his  words 
to  Valentine: 

Away  before  me  to  sweet  beds  of  flowers  :  . 
Love-thoughts  lie  rich  when  canopied  with  bowers. 

In  these  words  the  Duke  reveals  himself  as  being 
not  so  much,  in  love  as  lovesick. 

In  this  opening  Scene  Shakespeare  has  introduced 
the  Duke  in  person,  and  Olivia  by  a  description  of 
her. 

In  Scene  2,  Viola  appears.  She  has  been  ship- 
wrecked. She,  like  Olivia,  is  mourning  the  loss  of 
a  brother,  whom  she  believes  dead : 

My  brother  he  is  in  Elysium. 

And  then  she  adds: 

Perchance  he  is  not  drown'd;  what  think  you,  sailors  ? 

The  dramatic  purpose  of  which  question  is  to  fore- 
shadow the  appearance  of  that  brother,  who  is  to 
play  an  important  part  in  the  Resolution  of  the 
drama.     Shakespeare  emphasizes  this  foreshadow- 


Twelfth  Night  327 


ing  by  a  description,  given  by  the  Captain,  of  this 
brother's  safety,  whom  he 

.    .    .    saw   .    .    .    hold  acquaintance  with  the  waves 
So  long  as  I  could  see. 

The  Captain  then  informs  Viola  of  Orsino,  and 
she,  in  her  comment  thereon,  reveals  two  facts: 
viz.,  that  she  had  heard  her  father  name  him,  and 
that  he  was  a  bachelor.  Shakespeare,  by  this  little 
hint,  intimates  that  Viola's  interest  in  the  Duke 
was  more  than  casual. 

The  Captain  then  states  that  the  Duke  was  in 
love  with  Olivia,  and  refers  to  her  grief  for  her  dead 
brother.  This  is  an  example  of  Repetition,  Altera- 
tion, Alternation. 

Viola  asserts  her  desire  to  enter  the  service  of 
this  Duke,  and  to  do  so  is  willing  to  be  disguised  as  a 
page.  Her  principal  accomplishment  which  fits  her 
for  this  service  is  her  skill  in  music: 

.     .     .     for  I  can  sing 
And  speak  to  him  in  many  sorts  of  music. 

The  Captain  promises  to  aid  her  in  attaining  her 
desire. 

The  Plot  of  the  play  is  founded  on  confusion  of 
identity.  This  has  ever  been  a  favorite  technical 
device  with  dramatists.  The  Greeks  made  frequent 
use  of  it.  There  is  no  more  perfect  example  of  it 
than  (Edipus  the  King,  by  Sophocles,  which  Aris- 
totle considered  the  typical  example  of  the  highest 
Greek  tragedy,  and  which  is  certainly  the  most  per- 
fectly   constructed    of   any   of   the    Greek   plays. 


328  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Shakespeare,  over  and  over  again,  hinges  a  Plot  on 
confusion  of  identity.  In  Loves  Labour  's  Lost, 
when  the  King  of  Navarre  and  his  attendants  go  to 
woo  the  Princess  of  France  and  her  ladies,  both  the 
former  and  the  latter  mask  themselves  so  as  to  con- 
ceal their  identity.  When  Julia  goes  to  see  Proteus 
{Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona)  she  goes  dressed  in 

.     .     .     such  weeds 
As  may  beseem  some  well-reputed  page. 

All  the  women  in  the  Merchant  of  Venice \  at  one 
time  or  another,  assume  a  male  guise.  Jessica 
elopes  with  Lorenzo 

Even  in  the  lovely  garnish  of  a  boy. 

Portia  and  Nerissa,  before  going  to  Venice  to 
rescue  Antonio,  doff  their  dresses,  and 

.     .     .     are  both  accoutred  like  young  men. 

When  Ford  {Merry  Wives  of  Windsor)  wants  to 
assure  himself  of  the  faithfulness  of  Mistress  Ford, 
he  disguises  himself,  and  assumes  the  name  of 
Brook.  Vincentio  the  Duke  {Measure  for  Measure) 
hears  rumors  of  the  unfaithfulness  and  villainy  of 
Angelo,  his  Deputy.  He  dresses  as  a  friar,  and 
returns  to  Vienna.  In  Cymbcline,  Belarius  assumes 
the  garb  of  a  shepherd,  and  the  name  of  Morgan. 
The  lovely  Imogen  so  successfully  conceals  her  iden- 
tity and  her  sex,  but  not  her  loveliness,  that  Bela- 
rius, when  he,  for  the  first  time,  saw  her  sleeping 
in  the  cave,  said : 


Twelfth  Night  329 

By  Jupiter,  an  angel  !  or,  if  not, 

An  earthly  paragon  ! — Heboid  divineness 

No  elder  than  a  boy. 

\These  are  but  some  of  the  instances  in  which 
Shakespeare  uses  this  favorite  device  of  confusion 
of  identity.  He  always  does  so  with  great  technical 
skill,  with  subtle  variations,  with  exceeding  dra- 
matic effectiveness. 

In  a  play  of  this  kind,  the  Complication  is  caused 
by  mistake  in  the  identity  of  different  persons. 
The  Resolution  is  effected  by  what  the  Greeks 
called  anagnorisis  (ana,  again,  gnorizo,  to  know)  to 
know  again. 

In  Twelfth  Night,  at  the  very  beginning  of  the 
play,  Viola  assumes  the  garb  of  a  man.  This  re- 
sults in  a  confusion  of  identity  which  causes  the 
Complication  in  the  play.  The  Resolution  is 
effected  when  she  reveals  herself  as  not  a  man  but 
a  woman,  the  sister  of  Sebastian,  and  again  dresses 
in  her  maiden  iveeds. 

In  Scene  3,  Shakespeare  introduces  the  principal 
characters  in  the  most  important  Sub-Action.  First 
come  Sir  Toby  Belch  and  Maria.  Sir  Toby  reveals 
himself  by  his  remark,  I  am  sure  care  fs  an  enemy  to 
life.  His  life  is  gay,  sensuous,  filled  with  animal 
enjoyment.  For  his  excessive  drinking  Maria  calls 
him  to  account,  and  informs  him  of  Olivia's  dis- 
pleasure. She  then  makes  a  prediction  that  fore- 
shadows perfectly  the  conclusion  of  Sir  Toby's 
dramatic  life: 

That  quaffing  and  drinking  will  undo  you. 


3$o  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Shakespeare,  manifesting  fine  technique,  then 
makes  Maria  and  Sir  Toby  describe  a  foolish  knight 
that  the  latter  brought  in  one  night  here  to  be  {Olivia  s\ 
zvoocr.  The  description  of  Sir  Andrew  by  Maria  and 
Sir  Toby  is  a  fine  piece  of  character-drawing.  Its 
dramatic  function  is  twofold;  it  describes  Sir  An- 
drew,  and  prepares  for  his  entrance;  it  also  reveals 
to  us  Sir  Toby  and  Maria.  One's  opinions  of  other 
people  are  indexes  to  one's  own  mental  and  emo- 
tional nature.  Maria  describes  Sir  Andrew  as  a 
very  fool  and  a  prodigal ;  a  great  quarreller  ;  a  cow- 
ard ;  and,  moreover,  he's  drunk  nightly.  Sir  Toby's 
point  of  view  is  quite  different.  He  informs  us  Sir 
Andrew  is  as  tall  a  man  as  any's  in  lllyria;  has 
three  thousand  ducats  a  year ;  plays  o  the  viol-de- 
gamboys  ;  and  speaks  three  or  four  languages  ivord 
for  ivord  without  book.. 

Shakespeare,  having  prepared  the  spectators  for 
the  entrance  of  Sir  Andrew,  now  brings  him  on  the 
stage.  Sir  Andrew  at  once  reveals  himself  to  be 
exactly  such  a  man  as  has  been  described.  He  is 
a  mere  echo  of  Sir  Toby.  He  is  as  deficient  in  will 
as  he  is  in  brains.  His  wooing  ceases  almost  before  it 
begins.  Faith,  I  'II  home  to-morrow,  Sir  Toby  :  your 
niece  will  not  be  seen ;  or  if  she  be,  it 's  four  to  one 
she  'II  none  of  me.  Sir  Toby  urges  him  to  stay. 
Sir  Andrew  assents.  He,  however,  dismisses  Olivia 
from  his  thoughts,  and  never  pushes  his  suit.  Shall 
we  set  about  some  revels  ?  he  asks  Sir  Toby,  and  from 
this  time  these  two  men  devote  themselves  to 
revelry  and  fun. 

In  Scene  4,   the  last  of  the  Introduction,  Viola 


Twelfth  Night  331 

appears  in  man  s  attire.  She  is  in  the  service  of  the 
Duke.  He  has  selected  her  as  his  messenger  to 
Olivia,  and  gives  her  detailed  instructions  as  to 
pushing  his  suit.     She  is  to 

Be  not  denied  access,  stand  at  her  doors, 

and  do  anything 

Rather  than  make  un profited  return. 

Having  obtained  an  audience  with  Olivia  she  is  to 

.     .     .     unfold  the  passion  of  [the  Duke's]  love. 

Shakespeare  then  puts  into  the  Duke's  mouth  an 
exquisite  description  of  Viola: 

For  they  shall  yet  belie  thy  happy  years, 
That  say  thou  art  a  man  :  scq. 

Neither  the  Duke,  nor  any  one  in  the  play,  ex- 
cepting the  Captain,  who  has  disappeared  from  the 
action,  knows  that  Viola  is  a  woman.  In  order  to 
appreciate  the  fine  technique  of  Shakespeare  in  this 
description,  this  fact  must  be  borne  in  mind. 

Shakespeare  frequently  caused  his  women  to  ex- 
change petticoat  for  doublet  and  hose.  Portia,  Nc- 
rissa,  Jessica,  Rosalind,  Imogen,  and,  in  this  play, 
Viola,  all  did  so.  Yet  they  were  never  coarse, 
mannish,  hoidenish,  but  always  refined  and  feminine. 
Though  caparisoned  like  men,  not  one  of  them  ever 
had  a  doublet  and  hose  in  her  disposition.  This  is 
true  of  Viola.  Her  lip,  like  Diana's,  was  smooth  and 
rubious  ;  her  small  pipe,  shrill  and  sound,  i.  e.,  the 
tones  were  clear  and  pure; 


332  Shakespeare's  Plots 

And  all  is  semblative  a  woman's  part. 

In  every  respect,  except  her  dress,  Viola  re- 
sembled a  woman. 

The  dramatic  purpose  of  this  detailed  description 
of  Viola  is  not  primarily  to  inform  us  of  her,  al- 
though that  is  a  secondary  intention  of  the  poet, 
but  is  to  foreshadow  the  Resolution  of  the  drama, 
which  is  brought  about  by  the  revelation  of  Viola's 
sex. 

Viola  accepts  the  mission  of  the  Duke: 

I  '11  do  my  best 
.    To  woo  your  lady. 

Then  in  an  aside  she  reveals  to  us  her  love  for 
the  Duke: 

Yet,  a  barful  strife  ! 
Whoe'er  I  woo,  myself  would  be  his  wife. 

In  this  soliloquy  Shakespeare  foreshadows  the 
marriage  of  the  Duke  and  Viola. 

So  ends  this  Introduction.  In  it  Shakespeare  has 
introduced  in  person  all  the  principal  characters  in 
the  play  except  Malvolio  and  the  Clown.  The 
causes  of  the  action  have  been  fully  revealed.  The 
emotional  chord  that  vibrates  through  the  play  has 
been  touched.  The  action  has  been  clearly  fore- 
shadowed, particularly  in  the  words  of  Viola,  with 
which  the  Introduction  ends. 

GROWTH 

I.,  5-n.,  4 


Twelfth  Night  333 

Shakespeare  begins  the  Growth  of  this  play  with 
an  Episode.  The  Clown  makes  his  first  appear- 
ance.    With  him  is  Maria. 

The  Clowns  or  Fools  in  the  Shakespearian  drama 
were  not  weak-minded,  foolish,  but  shrewd,  keen, 
wise.  They  were  professional  jesters.  They  dressed 
in  motley,  a  dress  one  half  of  which  was  one  color, 
the  other  half  a  different  color.  Shakespeare  has 
described  their  nature  and  function  very  fully  and 
lucidly.  Jaques,  who  was  ambitious  for  a  motley  coat, 
says: 

I  must  have  liberty 
Withal,  as  large  a  charter  as  the  wind, 
To  blow  on  whom  I  please:  seq. ' 

Viola  thus  describes  the  Clown  in  Twelfth  Night; 

This  fellow  is  wise  enough  to  play  the  fool  ; 
And  to  do  that  well  craves  a  kind  of  wit  : 
He  must  observe  their  mood  on  whom  he  jests, 
The  quality  of  persons,  and  the  time. 

.     .     .     This  is  a  practice 
As  full  of  labour  as  a  wise  man's  art : 
For  folly  that  he  wisely  shows  is  fit ; 
But  wise  men,  folly-fall'n,  quite  taint  their  wit. 

The  Fools  were  deep,  contemplative,  profoundly 
philosophic,  witty.  To  this  they  give  expression 
not  in  sober  speech  but  by  means  of  badinage,  jest. 
As  the  Duke  Senior  said  of  Touchstone,  they 

1  As  You  Like  It,  II.,  7,  47,  seq.  Cf.  Murray,  Ancient  Greek 
Literature,  p.  212. 


334  Shakespeare's  Plots 

use  their  folly  as  a  stalking  horse  and  under  the  pre- 
sentation of  that  they  shot  their  wit. 

The  Elizabethan  audiences,  more,  possibly,  than 
those  of  this  day,  seemed  to  crave  humor  and  farce. 
There  are  many  indications  of  that  in  the  Shake- 
speare plays.  They  are.full  of  puns.  They  contain 
much  farce  and  burlesque.  The  principal  means 
used  by  Shakespeare  to  gratify  this  love  of  jest  on 
the  part  of  the  spectators  who  crowded  the  Globe 
and  Blackfriars  theatres  was  his  Clowns  and  Fools. 

Their  nature  and  vocation  are  illustrated  in  the 
first  scene  of  the  Growth  in  the  play  we  are  study- 
ing. Maria  and  the  Clown  have  a  bantering  con- 
versation full  of  audacity  and  shrewdness  on  Maria's 
part,  of  irony  and  jest  on  his.  It  concludes  with  the 
Clown's  remark  to  Maria: 

if  Sir  Toby  would  leave  drinking,  thou  wert  as  witty  a 
piece  of  Eve's  flesh  as  any  in  Illyria. 

Maria  immediately  perceives  that  he  refers  to  a  mar- 
riage between  her  and  Sir  Toby.  She  instantly 
responds: 

Peace,  you  rogue,  no  more  o'  that. 

Thus  Shakespeare  by  the  apparently  trifling,  but 
really  wise,  words  of  the  Clown,  at  the  very  begin- 
ning of  the  action,  foreshadows  the  marriage  of  Sir 
Toby  and  Maria,  which  takes  place  before  the  con- 
clusion of  the  play. 

Maria  then    makes  her  exit.     The  Clown,  in  a 
monologue,  apostrophizes  wit: 


Twelfth  Night  335 

Wit,  an  *t  be  thy  will,  put  me  into  good  fooling  ! 

The  Lady  Olivia  and  Malvolio  then  enter.  The 
Clown  at  once  begins  to  jest  with  her,  and  to  tell 
her  some  wholesome  truths.  She  is  not  in  the 
mood  for  jesting,  being  sad  on  account  of  her 
brother's  death,  and  directs  her  attendants  to  take 
the  fool  aivay.  The  Clown  instantly  retorts,  Take 
aivay  the  lady.  He  further  says,  Lady,  cucullus  non 
facit  vwnachuvi  (all  hoods  make  not  monks); 

that 's  as  much  to  say  as  I  wear  not  motley  in  my  brain. 

He  then  proceeds  to  show  that  not  he,  but  she,  is 
the  fool,  because  she  mourns  so  unreasonably  and 
so  persistently  for  her  brother  whose  soul  is  in 
heaven.     Malvolio,  who  is 

sick  of  self-love,  and  tastes  with  a  distempered  appetite, 

is  surprised  and  disgusted  that  Olivia  takes  delight 
in  such  a  barren  rascal.  Olivia  rebukes  him,  and  in 
so  doing  again  describes  the  professional  Fool: 

There  is  no  slander  in  an  allowed  fool,  though  he  do 
nothing  but  rail  ;  nor  no  railing  in  a  known  discreet  man, 
though  he  do  nothing  but  reprove. 

Aristophanes  told  the  spectators  of  his  plays  that 
if  they  "  retained  carefully  the  ideas  of  the  comic 
poets,  as  they  kept  dried  fruits  in  boxes,  their  gar- 
ments  would  smell  odoriferous  of  wisdom,  all  the 
year."  We  can  say  of  this  Clown  in  Twelfth 
Night,  and  of  all  of  Shakespeare's  Clowns  and" 
Fools,    their  "  garments  smell  odoriferous  of  wis- 


336  Shakespeare's  Plots 

dom."  And  in  this  respect,  and  this  is  one  of  his 
principal  dramatic  functions,  this  Clown  is  a  contrast 
to  all  the  other  characters  in  this  play,  with  the  single 
exception  of  Viola.  He  is  thoughtful,  witty,  and  by 
contrast  brings  into  brighter  light  their  thought- 
lessness, vacillation,  innocent  but  foolish  weakness. 
This  comic  Episode  with  which  the  Growth 
begins  now  ends,  and  the  Main  Action  of  the  drama 
commences  with  the  arrival  of  Viola  on  her  mission 
from  the  Duke.  As  has  been  foreshadowed,  Olivia 
refuses  to  receive  the  Duke's  messenger.  She 
directs  Malvolio  to  tell  him 

I  am  sir:k,  or  not  at  home  ;  what  you  will,  to  dismiss  it. 

Cesario  is  fortified  against  any  denial,  and  swears 
he  will  speak  ivith  Olivia.  Finally,  and  with  the 
greatest  reluctance,  she  yields  to  Viola's  persistency, 
and,  covering  her  face  with  a  veil,  decides  once  more 
to  hear  Orsino's  embassy. 

Although  the  mission  on  which  Viola  comes  is 
serious,  very  serious  to  the  Duke  and  Olivia,  the 
interview  between  the  latter  and  Viola  begins  with 
a  bantering  conversation.  This  is  in  perfect  har- 
mony with  the  play,  which  is  a  comedy.  This 
conversation  is  finely  tempered.  It  is  playful,  illu- 
minative. It  discloses  the  mental  and  emotional 
temperaments  of  the  two  women.  Viola  inquires 
for  the  honourable  lady  of  the  house.  At  first  Olivia, 
who  is  disguised,  refuses  to  acknowledge  herself  as 
the  mistress.  Viola,  in  the  same  mischievous  mood, 
declines  to  deliver  her  message,  which,  besides  it  is 
excellently  well  penned,  she  had  taken  great  pains  to 


Twelfth  Night  337 

con.  Olivia  then  declares  herself,  and  asks  Viola  to 
deliver  her  message.  Viola  refuses  to  do  so,  until 
the  attendants  have  retired,  for  that  message  is, 

to  your  ears,  divinity  ;  to  any  other's,  profanation. 

The  attendants  now  retire.  Olivia  and  Viola  are 
left  alone,  and  the  Main  Action  of  the  drama  begins 
movement.  Viola  requests  Olivia  to  show  her  face. 
She  does  so.  Viola  praises  her  beauty,  and  chides 
her  with  cruelty 

If  you  will  lead  these  graces  to  the  grave 
And  leave  the  world  no  copy. 

Viola  then  delivers  her  message: 

My  lord  and  master  loves  you. 

Olivia  replies  she  cannot  reciprocate  the  Duke's 
love,  and  has  so  informed  him. 

Then  Shakespeare,  manifesting  fine  technique, 
makes  Viola  speak  in  her  own  person  : 

If  I  did  love  you  in  my  master's  flame, 
With  such  a  suffering,  such  a  deadly  life, 
In  your  denial  I  would  find  no  sense  ; 
I  would  not  understand  it. 

Olivia's  interest  is  excited.     She  inquires: 

Why,  what  would  you  ? 

Viola  answers: 

Make  me  a  willow  cabin  at  your  gate, 

And  call  upon  my  soul  within  the  house  :  seq. 

M 


338  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Olivia's  interest  In  this  young  man,  as  she  supposes 
Viola  to  be,  grows.     She  responds: 

You  might  do  much. 

Then   remembering  she  is  a  countess,  and  Viola 
but  a  messenger,  she  inquires: 

What  is  your  parentage  ? 

Viola's  reply  assures  her.     Olivia  reiterates  her  as- 
sertion that  she  cannot  love  the  Duke: 

Let  him  send  no  more, 

and  then  immediately  adds: 

Unless,  perchance,  you  come  to  me  again, 
To  tell  me  how  he  takes  it. 

Viola  is  incensed  at  Olivia's  rejection  of  her  mas- 
ter's love,  and  retires,  haughtily  saying: 

Farewell,  fair  cruelty. 

A  pause  in  the  movement  of  the  action  now  en- 
sues, during  which  Olivia,  in  two  monologues, 
reveals  her  newly  awakened  love  for  Viola. 

How  now  ! 
Even  so  quickly  may  one  catch  the  plague  ? 
Methinks  I  feel  this  youth's  perfections 
With  an  invisible  and  subtle  stealth 
To  creep  in  at  mine  eyes. 

In  order  to  reveal  her  feelings  to  Viola,  and  to 
induce  her  to  return,  Olivia  sends  Malvolio  after 
her  with  a  ring. 


Twelfth  Night  339 

After  Malvolio's  departure,  Olivia  again  in  a  mon. 
ologue  reveals  her  innermost  desires: 

I  do  I  know  not  what,  ;md  fear  to  find 
Mine  eye  too  great  a  flatterer  for  my  mind. 
Fate,  show  thy  force  :  ourselves  we  do  not  owe ; 
What  is  decreed  must  be,  and  be  this  so. 

The  Complication  of  the  drama  has  made  great 
progress.  It  began  with  the  Duke's  unrequited 
love  for  Olivia.  It  progressed  when  Viola  fell  in 
love  with  the  Duke.  It  is  made  still  more  complete 
when  Olivia  is  enamored  of  Viola.  The  course  of 
these  three  loves,  of  the  Duke  for  Olivia,  of  Viola 
for  the  Duke,  of  Olivia  for  Viola,  which  are  inex- 
tricably inwoven,  which  like  most  loves  do  not  run 
smooth,  constitutes  the  Main  Action  of  the  drama. 

The  Main  Action  is  now  interrupted  by  an  Episode 
(II.,  l)  during  which  Antonio  and  Sebastian,  charac- 
ters in  one  of  the  Sub-Actions,  are  for  the  first  time 
introduced.  When  Viola  first  appeared  she  mourned 
for  her  brother  whom  she  believed  shipwrecked,  and 
then  expressed  the  hope, 

Perchance  he  is  not  drown'd. 

This  hope  is  encouraged  by  a  sea  captain  who  saw 
her  brother  lashed  to  a  mast  and  alive.  Sebastian 
now  appears,  accompanied  by  Antonio.  In  a  con- 
versation with  him  Sebastian  informs  us  of  the  past 
history  of  himself  and  his  sister.  They  were  both 
shipwrecked  at  the  same  time.  Each  thought  the 
other  drowned.  Sebastian  pays  her  a  loving  tribute. 
She  was  beautiful,  and  bore  a  mind  that  envy  could 


34Q  Shakespeare's  Plots 

not  but  call  fair.  He  then  mentions  two  facts  which, 
apparently  trivial,  are  really  very  significant.  He 
and  his  sister  were  twins,  both  born  in  an  hour,  and 
she  much  resembled  me.  The  Plot  of  this  play  is 
founded  on  confusion  of  identity,  the  expression  of 
which  is  a  mistaking  of  Viola  for  Sebastian,  of  Se- 
bastian for  Viola.  Shakespeare  foreshadows  this, 
and  makes  it  more  reasonable  by  informing  us  of  the 
above  two  facts. 

Sebastian  is  bound  to  the  Count  Orsino's  court. 
Antonio  begs  that  he  may  accompany  him.  Against 
Sebastian's  wishes,  and  in  the  face  of  great  danger, 
he  does  so. 

This  Scene,  which  is  but  an  Episode,  is  followed 
by  one  (II.,  2)  in  which  the  Main  Action  resumes 
movement.  Malvolio  meets  Viola,  and  in  a  churlish 
manner  offers  to  her  the  ring  which  Olivia  had  sent. 
Viola,  with  keen  intuition,  immediately  perceives 
Olivia's  purpose.  She  graciously  tries  to  screen 
Olivia,  and  says: 

She  took  the  ring  of  me  :  I  '11  none  of  it. 

Malvolio  peevishly  throws  it  on  the  ground,  and 
retires. 

The  truth  dawns  on  Viola. 

She  loves  me,  sure. 

Still  further  progress  is  made  in  the  Complication  of 
the  drama.  The  poet,  by  means  of  a  few  verses 
spoken  by  Viola  in  soliloquy,  describes,  with  the 
utmost  lucidity,  this  Complication  so  far  as  it  has 
been  completed : 


Twelfth  Night  341 

How  will  this  fadge  ?  my  master  loves  her  dearly  ; 

And  I,  poor  monster,  fond  as  much  on  him  ; 

And  she,  mistaken,  seems  to  dote  on  me. 

What  will  become  of  this  ?     As  I  am  man, 

My  state  is  desperate  for  my  master's  love  ; 

As  I  am  woman, — now  alas  the  day  ! — 

What  thriftless  sighs  shall  poor  Olivia  breathe  ! 

O  time  !  thou  must  untangle  this,  not  I  ; 

It  is  too  hard  a  knot  for  me  to  untie  ! 

So  tightly  has  the  desis,  the  dramatic  knot,  been 
tied,  that  Viola  realizes  that  it  is  beyond  her  power 
to  untie  it,  and  leaves  that  work  to  time.  In  due 
course  of  time  that  knot  is  untied,  the  Resolution 
of  the  drama  is  effected,  by  the  happy  marriages  of 
the  Duke,  Viola,  and  Olivia. 

Again  the  action  of  the  drama  is  interrupted  by  a 
comic  Episode  (II.,  3)  in  which  Sir  Toby,  Sir  An- 
drew, Maria,  Malvolio,  and  the  Clown  take  part. 
Its  dramatic  purpose  is  twofold:  to  create  Atmos- 
phere, Local  Color;  and  to  foreshadow  Maria's  trick 
on  Malvolio. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  Scene  Shakespeare  indi- 
rectly, but  very  vividly  and  touchingly,  reveals 
Olivia's  emotional  condition.  Maria  begs  Sir  Toby 
not  to  be  too  boisterous. 

Sweet  Sir  Toby,  be  patient  for  to-night :  since  the 
youth  of  the  count's  was  to-day  with  my  lady,  she  is 
much  out  of  quiet. 

As  Olivia's  love  for  Viola  is  growing,  so  is  Sir 
Toby's  admiration  for  Maria.      He  says: 

She  's  a  beagle,. true-bred,  and  one  that  .adores  me. 


342  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Thus  again  Shakespeare  foreshadows  a  marriage  be- 
tween  Sir  Toby  and  Maria. 

The  next  Scene  (II.,  4),  the  last  of  the  Growth, 
is  also  episodic.  In  it  Shakespeare  again  marries 
music  to  verse,  and  uses  the  former  as  the  medium 
for  the  expression  of  love.  The  Duke  and  Viola, 
who  are  alone,  now  hold  a  conversation  on  that 
subject  which  is  uppermost  in  the  Duke's  mind. 
Although  unknown  to  the  Duke,  Viola  also  has  ex- 
perienced what  Shakespeare  elsewhere  describes  as 
the  inly  touch  of  love.  The  Duke  longs  for  sympathy. 
He  says  to  Viola: 

If  ever  thou  shalt  love, 
In  the  sweet  pangs  of  it  remember  me. 

He  then  describes  himself  as  like  all  true  lovers: 

Unstaid  and  skittish  in  all  motions  else, 
Save  in  the  constant  image  of  the  creature 
That  is  beloved. 

The  tune  which  is  being  played  touches  a  respon- 
sive chord  in  Viola,  and,  she  says, 

.     .     .     gives  a  very  echo  to  the  seat 
Where  Love  is  throned. 

The  Duke  perceives  she  speaks  masterly,  i.  e.,  de- 
scribes with  perfect  accuracy  the  effect  of  this  tune 
on  one  in  love.  So  exact,  indeed,  is  Viola  in  this 
description  that  the  Duke  infers  she  has  been  in 
love : 

My  life  upon  *t,  young  though  thou  art,  thine  eye 
Hath  stay'd  upon  some  favour  that  it  loves. 


Twelfth  Night  343 

Viola  acknowledges  the  correctness  of  this  infer- 
ence. In  response  to  inquiries  of  the  Duke  as  to 
what  kind  of  woman  she  had  been  in  love  with  Viola 
replies,  of  your  complexion,  about  your  years.  Viola 
thus  indirectly  reiterates  her  love  for  the  Duke.  It 
is  another  example  of  Repetition,  Alteration,  Alter- 
nation. The  thought  which  the  poet  wishes  to  im- 
press on  the  spectator  is  repeated,  but  in  an  altered 
form,  and  with  some  actions  intervening. 

The  Duke,  however,  is  blinded  by  his  love  for 
Olivia,  and  is  ignorant  of  Viola's  sex.  He  does  not 
perceive  she  refers  to  him.  He  advises  her  to  love 
a  woman  younger  than  herself,  for  men's  fancies, 
loves, 

are  more  giddy  and  unfirm, 
More  longing,  wavering,  sooner  lost  and  worn, 
Than  women's  are. 

The  Duke  unwittingly  recommends  himself  as,  in 
respect  of  years,  a  suitable  lover  for  Viola.  He  was 
older.  Viola  perceived  this,  and  doubtless  with  a 
keen  appreciation  of  the  exquisite  humor,  said: 

I  think  it  well,  my  lord. 

The  conversation  is  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of 
Curio  and  the  Clown,  the  latter  of  whom  proceeds 
to  sing  a  song  which 

.     .     .     is  silly  sooth, 
And  dallies  with  the  innocence  of  love. 

It  voices  the  feelings  of  the  Duke,  and  touches  a 


344  Shakespeare's  Plots 

responsive  chord  in  him,  for  it  sings  of  one  who  has 
been 

.     .     .     slain  by  a  fair  cruel  maid. 

The  dramatist  now  makes  effective  use  of  Con- 
trast. He  follows  this  song,  which  is  in  the  minor 
key,  by  a  little  humorous  badinage  between  the 
Clown  who  sings  it  and  the  Duke.  The  latter  re- 
quests the  Clown  to  retire.  Before  doing  so  he  man- 
ifests his  keen  insight  into  character  by  describing 
that  of  the  love-sick,  vacillating,  impulsive  Duke: 

I  would  have  men  of  such  constancy  put  to  sea,  that 
their  business  might  be  every  thing  and  their  intent 
every  where  ;  for  that 's  it  that  always  makes  a  good 
voyage  of  nothing. 

The  attendants  retire.  The  Duke  and  Viola  once 
more  are  left  alone.     The  Duke  orders  her: 

Get  thee  to  yond  same  sovereign  cruelty, 

and  declare  his  love,  which  is,  he  says,  far  stronger 
than  that  which  any  woman  can  have  for  a  man. 
But  Viola  knows 

Too  well  what  love  women  to  men  may  owe ; 

and  then  in  the  most  exquisite  poetry  she  describes 
such  a  love,  which,  she  informs  the  Duke,  was  that 
of  a  daughter  of  her  father  who — 

.     .     .     never  told  her  love, 
But  let  concealment,  like  a  worm  i'  the  bud, 
Feed  on  her  damask  cheek  :  seq. 


Twelfth  Night  345 

The  Duke,  still  blind  to  the  fact  that  Viola  is  de- 
scribing her  own  love  for  him,  artlessly  inquires: 

But  died  thy  sister  of  her  love,  my  boy  ? 

Viola  naively  replied  : 

I  am  all  the  daughters  of  my  father's  house. 

The  perfect  art  of  the  dramatist  manifested  in 
this  conversation  is  made  npparent  when  we  remem- 
ber that  the  facts  of  which  the  Duke  is  ignorant  are 
well  known  to  the  spectator  of  the  drama.  The  de- 
scription by  Viola  of  her  love,  made  in  the  most  ex- 
quisite poetry,  is  as  fine  work  as  Shakespeare  ever 
did. 

After  this  there  is  a  reference  by  Viola  to  her 
brother: 

And  all  the  brothers  too  :  and  yet  I  know  not. 

The  dramatic  function  of  this  is  to  foreshadow  the 
appearance  later  of  that  brother  who  is  an  important 
factor  in  the  Resolution  of  the  play.  By  means  of 
Viola,  assisted  by  him,  the  Complication  of  the 
drama  is  solved,  the  dramatic  knot  is  untied.  Hence 
this  reiterated  allusion  by  Viola  to  the  uncertainty 
of  her  brother's  death.  He  may  be  dead,  and  yet  I 
know  not. 

The  Scene  ends  by  arrangements  for  the  renewal 
of  the  Duke's  suit.     Viola  inquires: 

Sir,  shall  I  to  this  lady  ? 

The  Duke  promptly  and  decisively  responds: 


346  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Ay,  that 's  the  theme. 
To  her  in  haste  ;  give  her  this  jewel ;  say, 
My  love  can  give  no  place,  bide  no  denay. 

Thus  ends  the  Growth.  In  it  the  action  is  very 
slight.  It  illustrates  perfectly  the  nature  of  comedy. 
In  this  species  of  dramatic  composition  the  Plot  is 
very  simple.  The  incidents,  situations,  character- 
portraiture,  are  very  important. 

When  Viola  obeys  the  Duke's  command  and  goes 
to  the  lady  Olivia,  the  action  of  the  drama  again  be- 
gins movement  and  the  Climax  commences. 

CLIMAX 

II.,  $-111.,  jinis 

Every  character  which  takes  an  important  part  in 
the  action  of  this  drama  appears  in  the  Climax. 
Those  who  do  not  are  a  Sea-Captain,  friend  to 
Viola,  Valentine  and  Curio,  gentlemen  attending 
on  the  Duke.  These  are  simply  Link-Persons. 
Their  part  in  the  action  is  insignificant.  All  the 
other  characters  appear  in  person  except  Orsino.  He 
is  there  in  the  person  of  his  representative  Cesario, 
who  makes  for  him  the  final  appeal  to  Olivia. 

A  large  part  of  the  Climax  is  devoted  to  the  rep- 
resentation of  Maria's  trick  upon  Malvolio.  It  is, 
as  Maria  said  it  would  be,  sport  royal,  for  he  is  fooled 
black  and  blue.  This  trick  really  is  a  play  within  a 
play.     It  is  described  by  Fabian: 

If  this  were  played  upon  a  stage  now,  I  could  con- 
demn it  as  an  improbable  fiction. 


Twelfth  Night  347 

The  Clown  later  describes  it  as  an  interlude.  That 
it  really  was. 

Shakespeare  in  the  early  part  of  his  career  as  a 
dramatic  writer  frequently  introduced  a  play  within 
a  play.     In  Hamlet,  the  hero  says: 

.     .     .     the  play  's  the  thing 
Wherein  I  '11  catch  the  conscience  of  the  king. 

The  Taming  of  the  Shrew  is  prefaced  with  an  Intro- 
duction in  which  is  a  play.  In  A  Midsummer-Night's 
Dream  the  nuptials  of  Theseus  and  Hippolyta  are 
celebrated  with  the  play  of  the  Athenian  mechani- 
cals. In  Tivclfth  Night  the  Malvolio  trick  is  a  play 
within  a  play. 

This  manifests  crudity.  It  violates,  more  or  less, 
the  primal  law  of  Art,  Unity.  When  Shakespeare 
reached  maturity  he  perceived  this,  and  discontin- 
ued the  use  of  plays  within  plays.  Hamlet  is  an 
exception.  Those  plays  which  are  the  highest 
manifestation  of  his  constructive  genius  are  distin- 
guished by  perfect  Unity. 

In  this  Malvolio  play  or  interlude,  Malvolio's 
Character-Development  reaches  its  climax.  He  has 
been  described  by  Olivia  as  sick  of  self-love,  and  by 
Maria  as  a  timc-plcaser  ;  an  affect ioncd  ass.  The  re- 
sult of  the  letter  which  Maria  drops  in  his  way  is  to 
make  of  him  a  contemplative  idiot. 

The  scene  is  Olivia's  garden.  This  is  a  love  com- 
edy. It  is  filled  with  sunshine  and  flowers.  Malvolio 
enters  soliloquizing: 

T  is  but  fortune  ;  all  is  fortune.  Maria  once  told  me 
she  did  affect  me  :  seq. 


348  Shakespeare's  Plots 

He  imagines  himself  Olivia's  husband,  and  assumes 
not  only  the  title,  but  also  the  authority  of  such. 
As  he  saunters  through  the  garden  he  discovers  the 
letter  Maria  has  written  and  thrown  where  he  will 
find  it.  The  effect  is  all  that  Maria  intended  it 
should  be. 

Olivia  later  inquires  of  Maria  for  Malvolio.  Maria 
informs  her:  He's  coming,  madam;  but  in  very 
strange  manner.  He  is,  sure,  possessed,  madam.  He 
enters  and  acts,  in  every  particular,  as  directed  by 
the  letter.  He  appears  cross-gartered,  smiling. 
When  questioned  by  Olivia  he  quotes  from  her  let- 
ter. She,  being  entirely  ignorant  of  the  letter,  and 
perceiving  that  his  replies  are  wholly  irrelevant, 
concludes  he  is  insane: 

Why,  this  is  very  midsummer  madness. 

From  the  kindest,  though  mistaken,  motives,  she 
commends  him  to  the  care  of  Maria  and  Sir  Toby. 
Olivia  then  retires,  and  Malvolio  is  left  to  the  ten- 
der care  of  Sir  Toby,  Fabian,  and  Maria.  All  the 
while  they,  and  Sir  Andrew  Aguecheek  as  well,  have 
been  in  the  secret.  They  were  concealed  in  the  gar- 
den when  Malvolio  found  the  letter;  they  heard  his 
soliloquizing  describing  what  he  would  do  when  he 
won  Olivia,  and  was  Count  Malvolio.  They  had 
been  informed  by  Maria  of  his  conduct  towards 
Olivia.  Now  when  Olivia  retires,  Sir  Toby  and  Fa- 
bian enter,  and,  together  with  Maria,  carry  the  trick 
to  its  consummation.  They  treat  Malvolio  as  if  he 
were  insane,  and  when  he  retires  determine  to  put 
him  under  guard.     Come,  Sir  Toby  says, 


Twelfth  Night  349 

we  '11  have  him  in  a  dark  room  and  bound.  My  niece 
is  already  in  the  belief  that  he  's  mad  :  we  may  carry 
it  thus,  for  our  pleasure  and  his  penance,  till  our  very 
pastime,  tired  out  of  breath,  prompt  us  to  have  mercy 
on  him. 

Thus  Malvolio  has  reached  the  Climax  of  his  dra- 
matic life.  He  is  bound,  placed  in  a  dark  room,  and 
remains  there  till  the  Catastrophe.  He  ceases  to  be 
a  suitor  for  Olivia's  hand,  and  an  active  force  in 
this  drama. 

Another  result  of  Maria's  trick  is  to  develop  to 
the  highest  degree  Sir  Toby's  admiration  for  her. 
He  makes  her,  after  his  fashion,  an  offer  of  mar-    , 
riage.     To  Sir  Andrew  and  Fabian  he  says: 

I  could  marry  this  wench  for  this  device.  - 

And  ask  no  other  dowry  with  her^ut  such  another  jest. 

Maria  enters  a  moment  later,  and  Sir  Toby  asks  her: 

Wilt  thou  set  thy  foot  o'  my  neck  ? 

As  we  learn  later  in  the  play  Maria  does  set  her  . 
foot  on  Sir  Toby's  neck,  and,  from  what  we  know 
of  her  and  of  him,  it  is  fair  to  presume  she  keeps  it 
there,  and  presses  down  pretty  hard.  Sir  Toby  and 
Maria  have  reached  the  Climax  of  their  dramatic 
lives. 

At  the  close  of  the  Growth  the  Duke  had  again 
sent  Viola  to  Olivia.  She  now  appears  on  her  mis- 
sion of  love.  As  she  enters  Olivia's  garden  she 
meets  the  Clown.  They  engage  in  a  conversation 
full  of  raillery  and  banter. 


35°  Shakespeare's  Plots 

The  comedy  in  this  play  is  very  largely  the  work 
of  the  women,  Viola,  in  the  Main  Action,  Maria,  in 
the  Sub-Action.  Viola's  humor  is  refined,  thought- 
ful, kindly.  Maria's  approaches  the  satiric.  The 
laughter  of  both  of  them,  however,  is  very  different 
from  the  gross  laughter  of  Sir  Toby,  the  vapid  smile 
of  Sir  Andrew.  That  of  Viola  and  Maria  is  the  rich 
laughter  of  the  heart  and  mind.  It  is  ethereal  and 
illuminating,  like  light  or  color. 

In  the  conversation  between  Viola  and  the  Clown 
the  latter  reveals  himself  to  be  what  he  describes 
himself,  not  Olivia's  fool,  but  her  corrupter  of  words. 
He  distorts  and  misconstrues  all  Viola  says.  Yet, 
withal,  he  does  it  in  such  a  jolly,  good-natured  way, 
wifh  such  a  mixture  of  jest  and  earnest,  that  Viola 
says: 

I  warrant  thou  art  a  merry  fellow  and  carest  for  nothing. 

When  she  gives  him  some  money  he  expresses  the 
hope  that 

Jove,  in  his  next  commodity  of  hair,  [will]  send  thee  a 
beard  ! 

Viola  has  previously  informed  us  she  is  in  love  with 
the  Duke.  She  now  again  reveals  her  emotional 
condition  when  she  replies, 

I  am  almost  sick  for  one, 
then  in  an  aside  adds, 

though  I  would  not  have  it  grow  on  my  chin. 


Twelfth  Night  351 

Thus  again  Shakespeare  foreshadows  the  marriage 
of  Viola  to  the  Duke. 

The  Clown  goes  to  seek  Olivia.  Sir  Toby  and  Sir 
Andrew  enter.  For  the  first  time  they  meet  Viola. 
To  Sir  Toby's  inquiry, 

Will  you  encounter  the  house? 
Viola  answers, 

I  am  bound  to  your  niece,  sir. 

Olivia  and  Maria  enter.  Viola  refuses  to  deliver  her 
message  except  to  Olivia  alone.  The  others  all 
retire. 

The  comic  now  temporarily  gives  way  to  the  seri- 
ous. All  sunshine  makes  the  desert.  If  there  is 
nothing  serious  in  a  comedy  the  humor  becomes 
monotonous,  lifeless. 

Viola  informs  Olivia: 

I  come  to  whet  your  gentle  thoughts 

on  the  Duke  Orsino's  behalf.  Olivia  frankly  avows 
her  fondness  for  Viola: 

I  did  send, 
After  the  last  enchantment  you  did  here, 
A  ring  in  chase  of  you  :  so  did  I  abuse 
Myself,  my  servant  and,  I  fear  me,  you  :  seq. 

Viola  in  response  expresses  pity  for  Olivia.  The  lat- 
ter considers  that  a  degree  to  love.     Viola  responds : 

No,  not  a  grize  : 


352  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Olivia  is  chagrined : 

Be  not  afraid,  good  youth,  I  will  not  have  you. 

This  mood  is  but  temporary.     Almost  immediately 
Olivia  is  overcome  by  her  love,  and  says: 

Cesario,  by  the  roses  of  the  spring, 
By  maidhood,  honour,  truth  and  everything, 
I  love  thee  so,  that,  maugre  all  thy  pride, 
Nor  wit  nor  reason  can  my  passion  hide. 

Viola  informs  her  that  she  cannot  reciprocate  that 
love. 

I  have  one  heart,  one  bosom  and  one  truth, 
And  that  no  woman  has  ;  nor  never  none 
Shall  mistress  be  of  it,  save  I  alone. 

Still  Olivia  does  not  give  up  hope.  As  she  retires 
she  beseeches  Viola  to 

.     .     .     come  again  ;  for  thou  perhaps  mayst  move 
That  heart,  which  now  abhors,  to  like  his  love. 

Once  more  Viola  does  come.  Olivia's  love  for  her 
has  not  been  chilled.  On  the  contrary,  it  has  grown 
more  intense.     She  feels  mortified. 

I  have  said  too  much  unto  a  heart  of  ..tone 
And  laid  mine  honour  too  unchary  0 

but  her  passion  mocks  reproof.  When  Viola  makes 
one  final  appeal  to  her  for  .  .  .  your  true  love 
for  my  master,  Olivia  frankly  declares  to  Viola  she 


Twelfth  Night  353 

has  given  that  love  to  her.  Viola  again  declines  it, 
and  Olivia,  still  refusing  to  accept  her  answer  as 
final,  says: 

Well,  come  again  to-morrow  :  fare  thee  well : 
A  fiend  like  thee  might  bear  my  soul  to  hell. 

Olivia  then  makes  her  exit.  She  has  finally  and 
irrevocably  rejected  the  suit  of  the  Duke.  Her 
passion  for  Viola  has  become  all-absorbing.  The 
Climax  of  the  play,  so  far  as  she  is  an  actor  therein, 
has  been  reached. 

Sir  Andrew's  wooing  also  reaches  a  climax.  To 
Sir  Toby  he  says : 

No,  faith,  I  '11  not  stay  a  jot  longer. 

The  reason  for  this  resolve  is : 

I  saw  your  niece  do  more  favours  to  the  count's  serving- 
man  than  ever  she  bestowed  upon  me. 

Fabian  tries  to  induce  Sir  Andrew  to  believe: 

This  was  a  great  argument  of  love  in  her  toward  you. 

Fabian  tells  him  further  he  has  missed  his  oppor- 
tunity, and  that  the  only  way  to  retrieve  his  fortune 
is  by  some  laudable  attempt  either  of  valour  or  policy. 
Sir  Toby  advises  him  to 

Challenge  me  the  count's  youth  to  fight  with  him  : 

Sir  Andrew  acts  on  this  advice,  and  retires  to  write 

the  challenge.    The  next  time  he  appears  he  brings 

it.     Sir  Toby  reads  it  aloud.     Both  he  and  Fabian 

consider  it: 
•i 


354  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Very  brief,  and  to  exceeding  good  sense — less. 

They  send  Sir  Andrew  away  to  scout  for  Viola 

at  the  corner  of  the  orchard  like  a  bum-baily  : 

At  the  same  time  Sir  Toby  goes  to  seek  Viola.  He 
refuses  to  deliver  the  letter,  it 

being  so  excellently  ignorant,  will  breed  no  terror  in  the 
youth  :  he  will  find  it  comes  from  a  clodpole. 

He  determines  to  deliver  the  challenge  by  word  of 
mouth.  Shortly  afterwards  he  meets  Viola,  who  has 
just  left  Olivia.  He  conveys  to  her  the  challenge 
of  Sir  Andrew,  and  accompanies  it  with  a  terrifying 
description  of  Sir  Andrew's  fierceness  and  bravery. 
The  result  is  she  is  in  mortal  terror  of  Sir  Andrew. 
Though  caparisoned  like  a  man  she  was  a  woman, 
gentle,  refined,  feminine.  Like  Rosalind,  she  did 
not  wear  a  doublet  and  hose  in  her  disposition.  Sir 
Toby  leaves  Viola  and  seeks  Sir  Andrew.  He  gives 
him  a  description  of  Viola's  deadly  skill  in  fencing. 
The  result  is  Sir  Andrew  becomes  as  afraid  of  Viola 
as  she  is  of  him.  Fabian  now  enters  with  Viola, 
urging  her  to  fight.  Sir  Toby  does  the  same  with 
Sir  Andrew.  Both  the  contestants  are  so  terrified 
they  can  hardly  stand.  However,  they  draw  their 
swords.  Before  a  blow  is  struck  Antonio  enters, 
and  the  fight  is  stopped.     Why  ?     For  two  reasons : 

I. — This  is  a  comedy.  While  there  is,  and  must 
be,  in  it  something  that  is  sombre,  serious,  there 
must  be  nothing  really  tragic. 

II. — To  have  allowed  the  fight  to  proceed  would 


Twelfth  Night  355 

have  been  a  mistake  on  Shakespeare's  part  in  Char- 
acter-Development. Viola  was  a  woman,  gentle, 
high-born;  Sir  Andrew  was  a  coward,  who,  as 
Maria  has  informed  us,  had 

the  gift  of  a  coward  to  allay  the  gust  he  hath  in 
quarrelling. 

If  Shakespeare  had  allowed  Viola  and  Sir  Andrew 
bravely  to  attack  each  other  the  development  of 
their  characters  would  have  lacked  consistency. 

Antonio,  who  had  left  Sebastian  but  an  hour  or 
two  previously,  now  enters  and  mistakes  Viola  for 
him.  It  was  a  natural  mistake.  Viola  was  a  twin- 
sister  of  Sebastian.  She  much  resembled  him.  She 
had  adopted  his  dress: 

So  went  he  suited  to  his  watery  tomb  : 

Antonio's  love  for  Sebastian  prompts  him  to  in- 
terfere immediately: 

Put  up  your  sword.     If  this  young  gentleman 
Have  done  offence,  I  take  the  fault  on  me  : 
If  you  offend  him,  I  for  him  defy  you. 

Sir  Toby  resents  Antonio's  interference.  Officers 
enter.  Viola  and  Sir  Andrew  put  up  their  swords. 
One  of  the  officers  arrests  Antonio  at  the  suit  of 
Count  Orsino.  Antonio,  still  mistaking  Viola  for 
her  brother  Sebastian,  says  to  her: 

This  comes  with  seeking  you  : 
But  there  's  no  remedy  ;  I  shall  answer  it. 
What  will  you  do,  now  my  necessity 
Makes  me  to  ask  you  for  my  purse? 


356  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Viola  is  nonplussed.     She  had  never  seen  Antonio. 
She  replies: 

What  money,  sir  ? 

Antonio  upbraids  her 

.     .    .     with  those  kindnesses 
That  I  have  done  for  you. 

Viola  responds: 

I  know  of  none ; 
Nor  know  I  you  by  voice  or  any  feature. 

Antonio  considers  this  the  basest  ingratitude,  and 
before  being  led  away  by  the  officers  says  to  Viola: 

Thou  hast,  Sebastian,  done  good  feature  shame. 

With  the  mention  of  her  brother's  name  the  truth 
begins  to  dawn  on  Viola: 

Methinks  his  words  do  from  such  passion  fly, 
That  he  believes  himself :  so  do  not  I. 
Prove  true,  imagination,  O,  prove  true, 
That  I,  dear  brother,  be  now  ta'en  for  you ! 


He  nam'd  Sebastian  :  I  my  brother  know 

Yet  living  in  my  glass  ;  even  such  and  so 

In  favour  was  my  brother,  and  he  went 

Still  in  this  fashion,  colour,  ornament, 

For  him  I  imitate  :  O,  if  it  prove, 

Tempests  are  kind  and  salt  waves  fresh  in  love. 

Viola  then  makes  her  exit,  followed  shortly  after  by 
Sir  Toby,  Fabian,  Sir  Andrew. 


Twelfth  Night  357 

The  action  of  the  drama  has  developed  to  its 
highest  point.  The  Complication  has  been  made 
complete.  .All  the  Complicating  and  Resolving 
forces  have  met  around  Viola,  the  heroine.  The 
Resolution  of  the  drama,  which  is  effected  by  an- 
agndrisu  or  Recognition,  is  clearly  foreshadowed. 

FALL 

IV 

At  the  beginning  of  the  Fall  Shakespeare  again 
makes  use  of  confusion  of  identity,  but  with  a  dif- 
ference. Viola  has  just  been  mistaken  by  Antonio 
for  Sebastian.  Now  the  Clown  mistakes  Sebastian 
for  Viola.  A  moment  later  the  same  mistake  is 
made  by  Sir  Toby,  Sir  Andrew,  Fabian,  Olivia. 

The  Clown  had  been  sent  by  Olivia  to  find  Viola. 
He  meets  Sebastian,  and  supposes  him  to  be  Viola. 
Evidently  something,  which  the  dramatist  does  not 
report,  had  been  done  or  said  which  led  Sebastian 
to  rebuff  the  Clown,  for  on  meeting  him  the  Clown 
had  said : 

Will  you  make  me  believe  that  I  am  not  sent  for  you  ? 

Sebastian  repels  him.  The  Clown  is  so  confident, 
however,  that  Sebastian  is  only  acting  a  part,  and 
is  Viola,  that  he  responds: 

No,  I  do  not  know  you  ;  nor  I  am  not  sent  to  you  by 
my  lady,  to  bid  you  come  speak  with  her  ;  nor  your  name 
is  not  Master  Cesario  ;  nor  this  is  not  my  nose  neither. 
Nothing  that  is  so  is  so. 


358  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Sebastian  considers  the  Clown's  conduct  but  a  jest, 
and,  good-naturedly,  gives  him  money,  with  the  re- 
quest that  he  vent  his  folly  somewhere  else.  By  so 
doing  he  wins  the  Clown's  good-will. 

At  this  time  Sir  Andrew,  Sir  Toby,  Fabian  enter. 
At  the  close  of  the  Climax,  after  Viola  had  made 
her  exit,  she  was  denounced  as  a  coward  by  Sir 
Toby  and  Fabian.  This  inspired  Sir  Andrew  with 
courage.     He  said : 

'Slid,  I  '11  after  him  again  and  beat  him. 

He,  together  with  Sir  Toby  and  Fabian,  now  meets 
the  Clown  and  Sebastian.  Sir  Andrew,  mistaking 
the  latter  for  Viola,  immediately  assaults  him: 

Now,  sir,  have  I  met  you  again  ?  there  's  for  you. 

Sebastian  promptly  makes  a  counter-attack: 

Why,  there  's  for  thee,  and  there,  and  there. 

Sebastian  is  as  much  confused  by  this  assault  as  by 
the  Clown's  mistake,  and  says: 

Are  all  the  people  mad  ? 

The  Clown  now  withdraws  with  the  expressed  in- 
tention of  informing  Olivia  of  Sir  Andrew's  attack 
on  Sebastian.  Sir  Toby  seizes  Sebastian.  Sir  An- 
drew's courage  fails  him.      He  says: 

I  '11  go  another  way  to  work  with  him  ;   I  '11  have  an 
action  of  battery  against  him. 

Sebastian  now  challenges  Sir  Toby  to  fight.      Sir 


Twelfth  Night  359 

Toby  draws  his  sword.     At  this  moment  Olivia  en- 
ters.    She  commands: 

Hold,  Toby  ;  on  thy  life  I  charge  thee,  hold  ! 

Again,  before  any  one  has  been  hurt,  the  fight  is 
stopped;  and  for  the  same  reasons  that  the  duel 
between  Sir  Andrew  and  Viola  was  stopped  before 
a  blow  was  struck.  Shakespeare  intended  the 
duel  to  be  not  a  real,  but  a  mock  one.  Had  it 
proceeded, doubtless  either  Sebastian  or  Sir  Toby 
would  have  been  wounded,  possibly  killed.  That 
would  have  caused  a  tragedy.  Shakespeare  was 
writing  a  love-comedy.  Olivia  rebukes  Sir  Toby, 
and  then  peremptorily  orders  him  out  of  my  sight ! 
Sir  Toby,  Sir  Andrew,  and  Fabian  now  retire, 
leaving  Olivia  alone  with  Sebastian.  She,  mistak- 
ing him  for  Viola,  turns  to  him,  and-  entreats  him 
not  to  be  offended  by  Sir  Toby's  uncivil  conduct, 
and  to 

Go  with  me  to  my  house, 


.     .     .     thou  shalt  not  choose  but  go  : 
Do  not  deny. 

Sebastian,  who  has  not  previously  met  Olivia,  is 
still  more  perplexed.     He  says: 

What  relish  is  in  this  ?  how  runs  the  stream  ? 
Or  I  am  mad,  or  else  this  is  a  dream  : 

He  fails  utterly  to  understand  the  situation.  He 
consents,  however,  to  be  ruled  by  fair  Olivia.  She 
replies :  O,  say  so,  and  so  be  /  and  they  depart  to- 
gether for  her  house. 


360  Shakespeare's  Plots 

In  the  second  Scene  of  the  Fall  Shakespeare  por 
trays  the  treatment  Malvolio  receives  from  Maria 
and  Sir  Toby,  to  whose  care  Olivia  has  confided 
him.  At  the  suggestion  of  Maria,  who  is  the  leader 
in  this  Sub-Action,  the  Clown  assumes  the  character 
of  Sir  Topas,  the  Curate,  dons  gown  and  beard,  and 
goes  to  the  dark  room  in  which  Malvolio  is  confined. 
The  Clown  is  urged  on  by  Maria  and  Sir  Toby.  He 
taunts  Malvolio  until  he  is  nearly  insane.  Malvolio 
realizes  he  is  in  the  power  of  his  enemies.  He  begs 
the  Clown  for  some  ink,  paper  and  light ;  and  convey 
what  I  will  set  down  to  my  lady.  The  Clown  prom- 
ises to  do  so,  and  departs. 

With  the  conclusion  of  this  Scene  (IV.,  2)  the 
Malvolio  affair  is  brought  to  a  close,  and  with  it  the 
dramatic  life  of  Maria.  The  conception  of  the  trick 
on  Malvolio  was  hers;  the  plan  for  putting  that  con- 
ception into  action  originated  with  her ;  she  carried  it 
to  its  full  consummation.  When  Malvolio  was  bound 
and  put  in  a  dark  room  her  work  was  ended.  Having, 
as  one  result  of  this  device,  won  Sir  Toby's  love,  and 
married  him,  her  dramatic  mission  was  ended.  She 
therefore  disappears  from  the  action  of  the  drama. 

Sebastian  had  consented  to  be  ruled  by  Olivia, 
and  had  departed  with  her.  He  now  appears  alone 
in  her  garden.  His  amazement  at  the  conduct  of 
the  Clown,  Sir  Toby,  Fabian,  and  Sir  Andrew,  and 
lastly  of  Olivia,  has  increased  until  he  almost  ques- 
tions his  sanity.  And  yet  Shakespeare  does  not 
allow  him  seriously  to  think  that. 

This  is  the  air ;  this  is  the  glorious  sun  ; 

This  pearl  she  gave  me,  I  do  feel  *t  and  see  *t ; 


Twelfth  Night  361 


And  though  't  is  wonder  that  enwraps  me  thus, 
Yet  *t  is  not  madness. 

Nor   does  Shakespeare  allow  him   to  believe  that 
Olivia  is  mad.     If  she  were 

She  could  not  sway  her  house,  command  her   followers, 
Take  and  give  back  affairs  and  their  dispatch 
With  such  a  smooth,  discreet  and  stable  bearing 
As  I  perceive  she  does. 

And   yet,   and   this    is    the   conclusion    Sebastian 
reaches : 

There  's  something  in  't 
That  is  deceivable. 

If  Sebastian,  Olivia,  and  the  other  actors  in  this 
drama  were  insane  the  drama  would  lose  interest. 
Their  conduct  not  being  governed,  at  least  to  some 
extent,  by  reason,  intelligence,  would  cease  to  be 
lucid,  perspicuous.  No  drama  could  be  written,  all 
the  actors  in  which  were  idiots  or  lunatics.  A  char- 
acter  might  in  the  course  of  the  action,  from  exces- 
sive grief  or  anxiety,  become  deranged,  e.  g.,  Lear. 
Or,  a  character,  for  a  shrewd  purpose,  might  as- 
sume madness,  as  did  Hamlet.  The  action  of  a  play 
must  be  dominated  and  carried  forward  to  comple- 
tion by  sane  men  and  women.  It  is  not  possible  to 
write  a  drama  in  which  the  actors  are  idiots  or  luna- 
tics. Why  ?  Art  is  controlled  by  law.  In  the  art 
of  man  there  is  an  intelligent  order.  Hence  in  this 
play,  while  Shakespeare  increases  Sebastian's  amaze- 
ment until  wonder  enwraps  him,  he  does  not  make 


362  Shakespeare's  Plots 

him  insane,  nor  for  a  moment  allow  him  to  believe 
that  either  he  or  Olivia  is  so. 

By  allowing  the  amazement  of  Sebastian  to  in- 
crease— and  this  is  Shakespeare's  purpose  in  so  do- 
ing— the  dramatist  has  excited  to  an  intenser  degree 
the  interest  of  the  spectator.  The  Complication  is 
apparently,  although  not  really,  increased,  in  order 
to  make  more  effective  the  Resolution.  That  now 
is  hastened  by  the  appearance  of  Olivia.  She,  ac- 
companied by  a  Priest,  enters.  She  requests  Se- 
bastian to  fulfil  his  promise  to  be  ruled  by  her,  and 
to  go  with  her  and 

.     .     .     this  holy  man 
Into  the  chantry  by  :  there,  before  him, 
And  underneath  that  consecrated  roof, 
Plight  me  the  full  assurance  of  your  faith  ; 
That  my  most  jealous  and  too  doubtful  soul 
May  live  at  peace. 

He  does  so.  He  and  Olivia  are  betrothed.  They 
cease  to  be  Complicating  factors  in  the  drama,  and 
as  a  consequence  the  Resolution,  the  untying  of  the 
dramatic  knot,  is,  to  that  extent,  effected. 

CATASTROPHE 
V 

In  the  Catastrophe  of  a  drama  the  whirligig  of 
time  brings  in  his  revengest  and  also  his  compensa- 
tions. Shakespeare  generally  does  that  directly  and 
rapidly.  In  the  Catastrophe  of  this  play,  however, 
he  apparently,  but  not  really,  departs  from  his  usual 


Twelfth  Night  363 

method.  While  everything  is  working  rapidly  to- 
wards the  Resolution  of  the  drama,  while  every 
word,  every  deed,  leads  towards  that,  and  tends  to 
produce  it,  still,  at  the  same  time,  everything  in  the 
fore  part  of  the  Catastrophe,  apparently  and  super- 
ficially, tends  to  greater  Complication.  The  result 
of  this  is  that  when  the  Resolution,  at  last,  is 
reached  the  dramatic  effect  is  heightened  and  made 
much  more  powerful.  It  is  the  darkness  of  the 
night  becoming  more  pronounced  just  before  the 
advent  of  day. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  Catastrophe  the  Clown 
enters  bearing  the  letter  which  Malvolio  had  written 
to  Olivia.  Fabian  expresses  a  wish  to  see  the  letter. 
The  Clown  makes  a  counter-request: 

Do  not  desire  to  see  this  letter. 

Just  then  the  Duke,  Viola,  Curio,  and  Lords  enter. 
The  Duke  accosts  the  Clown,  asking  him: 

Belong  you  to  the  Lady  Olivia? 

The  Clown  answers  in  the  affirmative.  A  conversa- 
tion then  ensues  in  which,  under  the  guise  of  face- 
tiousness,  the  Clown  says  some  wise  things,  amongst 
others  that  he  is  the  better  for  his  foes,  the  worse 
for  his  friends.  The  Duke  appreciates  the  fun,  and 
in  accordance  with  the  custom  of  the  time  gives  the 
Clown  money.     The  Duke  says: 

If  you  will  let  your  lady  know  I  am  here  to  speak  with 
her,  and  bring  her  along  with  you,  it  may  awake  my 
bounty  further. 


364  Shakespeare's  Plots 

The  Clown  departs  to  seek  Olivia.  Just  at  this 
time  Antonio  in  the  custody  of  officers,  enters. 
Viola  recognizes  him,  and  says: 

Here  comes  the  man,  sir,  that  did  rescue  me. 

The  Duke  remembers  Antonio's  face,  and  pays  a 
great  tribute  to  his  bravery.  Viola  recalls  An- 
tonio's kindness  to  her,  and  informs  the  Duke  that 
when  she  was  attacked  by  Sir  Andrew  Aguecheek, 
Antonio  drew  his  sword  in  her  defence: 

But  in  conclusion  put  strange  speech  on  me  : 
I  know  not  what  't  was  but  distraction. 

The  Duke  ignores  Viola's  tribute  to  Antonio,  and 
brands  him  as 

Notable  pirate  !  thou  salt-water  thief  ! 

and  then  asks  him  : 

What  foolish  boldness  brought  thee  to  their  mercies, 
Whom  thou,  in  terms  so  bloody  and  so  dear, 
Hast  made  thine  enemies? 

Antonio  fearlessly  resents  Orsino's  insults. 

The  information  that  Antonio  had  rescued  Sebas- 
tian from  a  watery  grave  has  been  given  by  the 
dramatist  in  the  fore  part  of  the  play.  He  now  re- 
hearses some  of  the  facts  of  Antonio's  life  previous 
to  his  meeting  with  Sebastian.  This  information  is 
valuable  as  enabling  the  spectator  of  the  drama  to 
form  a  very  accurate  estimate  of  Antonio.  Shake- 
speare errs,  however,  in  not  having  conveyed  that 


Twelfth  Night  365 

information  earlier  in  the  play.  It  is  a  canon  of 
dramatic  art  that  knowledge  of  what  has  taken  place 
previous  to  the  beginning  of  the  drama,  and  which 
it  is  necessary  the  spectator  should  possess  in  order 
to  understand  and  appreciate  the  play,  should  be 
given  in  the  Introduction.  Shakespeare,  by  not  in- 
forming  us,  until  the  Catastrophe  is  reached,  of  An- 
tonio's capture  of  the  Duke's  vessels,  violates  this 
law  of  dramatic  construction,  and  weakens  this  play. 
After  Antonio  resents  the  Duke's  characterization 
of  him  as  pirate \  thief y  he  said  : 

A  witchcraft  drew  me  hither.  , 

Turning  to  Viola,  whom  he  mistakes  for  Sebastian, 
he  recapitulates  his  experiences  with  Sebastian,  and 
with  Viola: 

That  most  ingrateful  boy  there  by  your  side, 
From  the  rude  sea's  enraged  and  foamy  mouth 
Did  I  redeem ;     .     .     . 

Drew  to  defend  him  when  he  was  beset  : 
Where  being  apprehended,  his  false  cunning, 
Not  meaning  to  partake  with  me  in  danger, 
Taught  him  to  face  me  out  of  his  acquaintance, 
And  grew  a  twenty  years  removed  thing 
While  one  would  wink  ;  denied  me  mine  own  purse, 
Which  I  had  recommended  to  his  use 
Not  half  an  hour  before. 

Both  Viola  and  the  Duke  are  amazed.  The  former 
says: 

How  can  this  be  ? 


366  Shakespeare's  Plots 

The  latter: 

When  came  he  to  this  town  ? 

Antonio  replies: 

To-day,  my  lord  ;  and  for  three  months  before, 

No  interim,  not  a  minute's  vacancy, 

Both  day  and  night  did  we  keep  company. 

Just  at  this  moment  Olivia  and  her  attendants 
enter.  This  is  the  first  time  she  and  the  Duke 
have  met.  The  very  sight  of  her  kindles  to  the  in- 
tensest  degree  the  fervor  of  the  Duke's  love: 

Here  comes  the  countess  :  now  heaven  walks  on  earth. 

Then  addressing  Antonio: 

.     .     .     fellow,  thy  words  are  madness  : 
Three  months  this  youth  hath  tended  upon  me. 

Antonio  is  taken  one  side.  Olivia  says  to  the  Duke: 

What  would  my  lord,  but  that  he  may  not  have, 
Wherein  Olivia  may  seem  serviceable  ? 

Ignoring  the  Duke,  not  waiting  for  any  reply  from 
him,  she  turned  to  Viola,  and  said: 

Cesario,  you  do  not  keep  promise  with  me. 

She,  like  Antonio,  mistakes  Viola  for  Sebastian. 
As  the  Duke's  love  had  been  intensified  by  the 
presence  of  the  object  of  that  love,  so  also  is  Olivia's. 
She  haughtily,  nay,  more,  contemptuously,  rejects 
the  Duke's  protestations  of  affection,  and  informs 
him  if  what  he  has  to  say 


Twelfth  Night  367 

.     .     .     be  aught  to  the  old  tune,  my  lord, 
It  is  as  fat  and  fulsome  to  mine  ear 
As  howling  after  music. 

The  limit  of  the  Duke's  forbearance  has  been 
reached.     His  resentment  is  aroused.     He  retorts: 

.     .     .     you  uncivil  lady, 
To  whose  ingrate  and  unauspicious  altars 
My  soul  the  faithfull'st  offerings  hath  breathed  out 
That  e'er  devotion  tender'd  ! 

Love  and  hate  are  very  near  to  each  other.     In 
fact,  they  are 

.     .     .     the  very  warders 
Each  of  the  other's  borders.1 

The  Duke's  feeling  now  changes  from  love  to  hate. 
In  such  a  case 

.    .     .     passion  seeks  aid  from  its  opposite  passion. " 

So  outraged  and  enraged,  indeed,  is  the  Duke 
by  Olivia's  insulting  rejection  of  him,  and  by  her 
love  for  Viola,  that  he  is  tempted  to  kill  Viola: 

Why  should  I  not,  had  I  the  heart  to  do  it, 
Like  to  the  Egyptian  thief  at  point  of  death, 
Kill  what  I  love  ? 

This  he  cannot  do.  His  love  for  Viola  restrains 
him.  He  determines,  however,  to  revenge  himself 
on  Olivia: 

1  Browning,  Pippa  Passes,  Scene  a.  •  Idem. 


368  Shakespeare's  Plots 

But  this  your  minion,  whom  I  know  you  love, 
And  whom,  by  heaven  I  swear,  I  tender  dearlyt 
Him  will  I  tear  out  of  that  cruel  eye, 
Where  he  sits  crowned  in  his  master's  spite. 

Then  to  Cesario  he  says : 

Come,  boy,  with  me  ;  my  thoughts  are  ripe  in  mischief  : 
I  Ml  sacrifice  the  lamb  that  I  do  love, 
To  spite  a  raven's  heart  within  a  dove. 

From  the  very  first  time  he  saw  her  the  Duke  had 
been  attached  to  Viola.  This  attachment  had 
strengthened  and  deepened  with  time.  In  his  out- 
burst of  indignation  and  wrath  at  Olivia's  non-re- 
gardance  of  his  faith  and  rejection  of  his  suit,  no 
less  than  three  times  he  declares  his  love  for  Cesario, 
whom  he  believes  to  be  a  boy.  Referring  to  him 
the  Duke  asks: 

Why  should  I  not     .     .     . 
Kill  what  I  love  ? 


.     .     .     whom,  by  heaven  I  swear,  I  tender  dearly. 

I  '11  sacrifice  the  lamb  that  I  do  love. 

Thus,  by  a  technique  that  is  simply  perfect,  does 
Shakespeare  reveal  to  us  the  profound,  intense, 
overmastering  love  of  the  Duke  for  Viola.  And 
this  love  Viola  reciprocates  to  the  extremest  degree. 
Filled  with  an  affection  which  is  enthusiastic,  soul- 
ful, self-abandoning,  she  offers  herself  a  willing  sac- 
rifice on  the  altar  of  her  love  for  the  Duke. 


Twelfth  Night  369 

And  I,  most  jocund,  apt  and  willingly, 

To  do  you  rest,  a  thousand  deaths  would  die. 

And  this  avowal  of  her  love,  which  would  lead  her 
even  to  die  for  him,  is  reiterated  and  emphasized 
when  Olivia  asks: 

Where  goes  Cesario  ? 

Viola  replies: 

After  him  I  love 
More  than  I  love  these  eyes,  more  than  my  life, 
More,  by  all  mores,  than  e'er  1  shall  love  wife. 

Thus,  by  this  avowal  of   love  on  the  part  of  the 
Duke  and  of  Viola  for  each  other,  Shakespeare  has 
foreshadowed    their    happy  marriage,  which    is   so 
soon  to  be  consummated. 
Olivia  now  is  mystified.     She  asks: 

.     .     .     how  am  I  beguiled  ! 

Viola  perceives  that  Olivia  refers  to  her,  and  im- 
mediately inquires: 

Who  does  beguile  you  ?  who  does  do  you  wrong? 

Olivia,  believing  without  the  shadow  of  a  doubt  that 
Viola  is  Sebastian,  the  young  man  to  whom  but  two 
hours  before  she  had  been  betrothed,  says  to  her: 

Hast  thou  forgot  thyself  !  is  it  so  long  ? 

The  Duke  determines  to  retire,  and  orders  Viola  to 
accompany   him.      Olivia  addresses  Viola   as  hus- 


37°  Shakespeare's  Plots 

band.  She  challenges  Viola  to  deny  it.  Viola 
does  so,  emphatically,  unhesitatingly,  immediately: 

No,  my  lord,  not  I. 

Olivia  believes  it  is  but  Viola's  fear  of  her  master 
that  leads  her  to  make  the  denial,  and  urges  her  to 
be  brave : 

Fear  not,  Cesario  ;  take  thy  fortunes  up. 

Just  at  this  moment  the  Priest  enters.  Olivia  ap- 
peals to  him.  He  rehearses  with  the  utmost  par- 
ticularity what  had  taken  place  between  Olivia  and 
Sebastian,  whom  he  as  well  as  Olivia  supposes  to 
be  Viola: 

A  contract  of  eternal  bond  of  love  :  seq. 

So  conclusive  does  this  testimony  seem  to  the  Duke 
that  his  confidence  in  Viola  is  annihilated.  He  is 
angered  that  she  should  have  deceived  him.  He 
wrathfully  addresses  her  as  dissembling  cub  /  and  or- 
ders her  to  leave  his  presence.  Viola  protests. 
Olivia  interposes. 

O,  do  not  swear  ! 

The  mistaken  identity  of  Viola  is  now  complete. 
Olivia,  the  Duke,  the  Priest,  all  believe  she  is  the 
man  who  has  been  betrothed  to  Olivia.  Antonio 
also  thinks  she  is  Sebastian. 

Shakespeare  now,  manifesting  perfect  technique, 
diverts  attention  from  her  to  Sebastian.  It  is  a 
dramatic  necessity  that  this  should  be  done  before 


Twelfth  Night  37 1 

Sebastian  appears  in  person,  and  he  and  Viola  meet. 
Before  Viola  obeys  the  Duke's  command  to  retire, 
and  while  she,  Olivia,  the  Duke,  the  Priest  are  to- 
gether,  Sir  Andrew  enters.     Some  one,  he  says: 

.    .    .     has  broke  my  head  across  and  has  given  Sir 
Toby  a  bloody  coxcomb  too. 

Olivia  inquires: 

Who  has  done  this,  Sir  Andrew? 

He  replies: 

The  count's  gentleman,  one  Cesario. 

Then  seeing  Viola,  he  adds: 

'Od's  lifelings,  here  he  is  ! 

and  then  charges  her  with  the  deed. 

You  broke  my  head  for  nothing. 

Viola,  of  course,  supposing  Sir  Andrew  referred  to 
the  duel,  which  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of 
Antonio  before  a  blow  had  been  struck,  replied : 

Why  do  you  speak  to  me  ?  I  never  hurt  you  : 
You  drew  your  sword  upon  me  without  cause  ; 
But  I  bespake  you  fair,  and  hurt  you  not. 

Of  the  fact  that  he  was  hurt  Sir  Andrew  had  no 
doubt.  It  never  occurred  to  him  that  Viola  was 
not  the  man  who  attacked  him.  He  supposed  that 
she  was  simply  quibbling  about  words: 


37*  Shakespeare's  Plots 

If  a  bloody  coxcomb  be  a  hurt,  you  have  hurt  me. 

Sir  Toby  and  the  Clown  enter.  Sir  Andrew  appeals 
to  him.  Sir  Toby  was  too  drunk  and  too  much 
wounded  to  bother  about  the  identity  of  Viola. 
Besides,  he  was  fairly  beaten  in  a  fight  into  which 
he  had  willingly  entered.  He  does  not  whimper 
like  Sir  Andrew,  but  takes  his  punishment  like  a 
man.     Replying  to  the  Duke's  question, 

How  now,  gentleman  !  how  is  't  with  you  ? 

and  speaking  of  Viola,  he  said : 

That  's  all  one  :  has  hurt  me,  and  there  's  the  end 
on  't. 

Olivia  orders: 

Get  him  to  bed,  and  let  his  hurt  be  look'd  to. 

He  departs.  He  was  in  no  condition  to  appear  as 
Maria's  newly  wedded  husband.  Hence  neither  she 
nor  he  could  appear  with  the  two  other  pairs  of 
lovers  at  the  end  of  the  play.  The  Clown,  Fabian, 
Sir  Andrew,  also  depart  with  Sir  Toby. 

Sir  Toby's  dramatic  life,  and  that  also  of  Sh  An- 
drew, is  ended.  Neither  of  them  appears  again. 
Shakespeare's  characterization  of  them  has  been, 
from  first  to  last,  uniform,  consistent.  Their 
little  dramatic  lives  were  rounded,  not  with  a  sleep, 
but  with  a  drunken  revel. 

It  is  an  inviolable  law  of  dramatic  art  that  funda- 
mental traits  of  character  must  be  revealed  early  in 


Twelfth  Night  373 

a  play.  Sir  Toby  when  he  first  appeared  was  under 
the  influence  of  liquor.      Maria  says  to  him: 

That  quaffing  and  drinking  will  undo  you. 

That  prediction  has  been  verified.  He  disappears 
from  this  play  in  drink,  as  Sir  Andrew  describes  him, 
and  sorely  wounded.  Sir  Andrew's  character,  like- 
wise, is  uniform.  From  first  to  last  he  has  been 
what  Sir  Toby,  in  the  last  words  he  utters  in  the 
drama,  describes  him,  an  ass-head  and  a  coxcomb  and 
a  knave,  a  thin-faced  knave,  a  gull ! 

The  dramatic  purpose  of  these  characters  has 
been,  primarily,  that  of  Contrast.  They  were  set 
over  against  the  Duke,  Olivia,  Malvolio,  all  of  whom 
were  serious.  In  perfect  contrast  with  the  latter  are 
Sir  Toby,  Sir  Andrew,  and  Maria.  They  are  gay, 
light-hearted.  Their  lives  are  merry,  and  free  from 
care.  By  means  of  them  Shakespeare  brings  into 
more  vivid  light  the  characters  in  the  Main  Action. 

No  sooner  have  the  Clown,  Fabian,  Sir  Toby,  and 
Sir  Andrew  made  their  exit  than  Sebastian  enters. 
This  is  the  first  time  in  the  drama  he  and  Viola  have 
met.  The  meeting  takes  place  in  the  presence  of 
the  Duke  and  his  suite;  of  Olivia  and  her  attend- 
ants; of  the  Priest;  of  Antonio.  All  the  characters 
in  the  Main  Action,  several  of  those  in  the  Sub- 
Actions  are  present.  This  is  a  fine  example  of 
Character-Grouping. 

Sebastian  first  addresses  Olivia,  and  expresses  re- 
gret for  having  injured  Sir  Toby. 

I  am  sorry,  madam,  I  have  hurt  your  kinsman. 


374  Shakespeare's  Plots 

But  a  moment  before  Olivia  had  addressed  Viola 
as  husband.  Olivia's  claim  had  been  confirmed  by 
the  Priest,  who  stated  that  within  two  tours,  and  in 
his  presence,  she  and  Viola  had  been  betrothed. 
Olivia's  surpise  at  Sebastian's  appearance  and  words 
may  be  imagined.  She  manifests  it  in  her  face. 
Sebastian  perceives  it.     He  says: 

You  throw  a  strange  regard  upon  me. 

Sebastian  supposes  Olivia  is  offended  at  his  conduct 
in  injuring  Sir  Toby.  He  begs  Olivia's  pardon; 
and  then  abjures  her,  by  the  vows  which  recently 
passed  between  them,  to  grant  it: 

Pardon  me,  sweet  one,  even  for  the  vows 
We  made  each  other  but  so  late  ago. 

The  Duke,  who  since  Sebastian's  entrance  has  been 
observing  closely,  but  has  remained  silent,  now 
says: 

One  face,  one  voice,  one  habit,  and  two  persons, 
A  natural  perspective,  that  is  and  is  not ! 

Sebastian,  who  had  never  previously  met  the  Duke, 
and  was  not  acquainted  with  him,  paid  no  attention 
to  the  Duke's  remark.  He  did  know  Antonio,  and 
knew  him  only  to  love  him.  They  had  not  met 
since  they  had  separated,  Antonio  to  seek  safety  at 
the  Elephant,  Sebastian  to  wander  through  the 
town.  Since  that  parting  each  had  had  many  sur- 
prising experiences.  Antonio  supposed  that  Sebas- 
tian   had    forsaken  him.     Sebastian    had    mourned 


Twelfth  Night  375 

over  the  loss  of  Antonio.     Now  with  glad  surprise, 
and  the  expression  of  his  solicitude,  Sebastian  says: 

Antonio,  O  my  dear  Antonio  ! 

How  have  the  hours  rack'd  and  tortured  me, 

Since  I  have  lost  thee  ! 

Antonio,  who,  like  Olivia,  has  mistaken  Viola  for 
Sebastian,  responds: 

Sebastian  are  you  ? 

Sebastian  acknowledges  that  he  is.     Antonio  is  as 
much  surprised  as  the  Duke: 

How  have  you  made  division  of  yourself? 
An  apple,  cleft  in  two,  is  not  more  twin 
Than  these  two  creatures. 

Olivia  expresses  her  bewilderment  : 
Most  wonderful  ! 

Sebastian  and  Viola  now  stand  face  to  face. 

Shakespeare  has  prolonged  the  suspense  to  the 
longest  time,  has  intensified  it  to  the  greatest  de- 
gree. The  Duke  is  wrathful  at  what  he  believes 
Viola's  hypocrisy.  Olivia  is  almost  heartbroken  at 
what  she  considers  the  desertion  of  her  husband. 
Viola  is  discarded  and  deserted  by  the  man  to  whom 
she  has  just  confessed  a  love  so  strong  that  for  him 
she  would  die  a  thousand  deaths.  The  interest  of 
the  spectator  has  been  wrought  up  to  the  highest 
degree.  Any  further  prolongation  of  this  suspense 
would  have  been  mistaken  technique.    Shakespeare, 


376  Shakespeare's  Plots 

therefore,  now  begins  the  final  Resolution  of  the 
drama.  This  is  done,  quickly  and  perfectly,  by 
means  of  Sebastian  and  Viola.  They  refer  to  the 
shipwreck,  by  which  they  were  separated;  to  their 
father,  the  mole  upon  his  brozu,  his  death.  Sebastian 
says  if  Viola  were  a  woman  he  should  accept  her  as 
a  sister.     She  perceives,  and  so  states  that  her 

.     .     .     masculine  usurp'd  attire, 

alone  stands  in  the  way  of  complete  recognition. 
Shakespeare's  verses  narrating  this  conversation  are 
a  perfect  specimen  of  narrative  poetry.  Like  some 
beautiful  rose  which  has  been  growing  for  weeks, 
then  suddenly  over  night  blooms  into  the  perfect 
flower,  so  the  complete  Resolution  of  this  drama, 
which  has  long  been  delayed,  reaches  its  full  and 
complete  development  in  this  conversation.  With 
the  recognition  of  the  fact  that  Viola  is  a  woman, 
and  the  sister  of  Sebastian,  all  the  Complication  of 
the  Plot  is  easily  resolved.  Olivia  would  have  been 
betrothed  to  a  maid. 

But  nature  to  her  bias  drew  in  that, 

and  she,  unwittingly,  was  betrothed  to  a  man.  A 
wise  and  unerring  Fate  provided  for  her  an  excellent 
husband.  The  Duke  accepts  the  situation.  He 
cannot  win  Olivia.  From  the  first  he  has  been  at- 
tached to  Viola.  He  now  recalls  all  her  protesta- 
tions of  affection  for  him.  Making  one  final  allusion 
to  her  assumed  sex,  which  is  a  dramatic  touch  of 
great  beauty,  and  is  as  sweet  as  the  last  note  of  dy- 
ing music,  he  says: 


Twelfth  Night  377 


Boy,  thou  hast  said  to  me  a  thousand  times 
Thou  never  shouldst  love  woman  like  to  me. 

Viola  responds: 

And  all  those  sayings  will  I  over-swear. 

In  token  of  their  betrothal  they  take  hands.  The 
Duke  expresses  the  wish  to  see  her  in  thy  woman  s 
weeds, 

Shakespeare  now  directs  attention  to  some  of  the 
characters  in  the  Sub-Actions,  whose  dramatic  lives 
it  is  necessary  to  bring  to  a  close.  For  the  time  be- 
ing the  Main  Action  remains  stationary,  while  two 
of  the  uncompleted  Sub-Actions  progress  to  their 
Catastrophe  or  completion. 

The  Captain  who  had  rescued  Viola,  and  told  her 
that  he  had  seen  her  brother  still  alive,  bound  to  a 
strong  mast,  floating  in  the  water,  had  disappeared 
from  the  play  just  after  having  given  that  informa- 
tion. No  more  has  been  heard  of  him  since  this  al- 
lusion to  him  in  the  Introduction.  Viola  now  recalls 
him.  When  the  Duke  expresses  the  wish  to  see  her 
in  woman  s  weeds,  she  says: 

The  captain  that  did  bring  me  first  on  shore 
Hath  my  maid's  garments  :  he  upon  some  action 
Is  now  in  durance,  at  Malvolio's  suit. 

Olivia  orders  him  enlarged.  Of  his  experiences 
during  his  imprisonment  the  spectator  has  not  been 
informed.  The  Duke,  therefore,  a  little  later,  speak- 
ing of  Malvolio,  says: 

He  hath  not  told  us  of  the  captain  yet. 


378  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Nor  does  he,  for  when  the  Duke  utters  these  words 
Malvolio  had  retired  not  to  return. 

Viola's  allusion  to  Malvolio  recalls  him  to  Olivia. 
She  commands: 

Fetch  Malvolio  hither: 
And  yet,  alas,  now  I  remember  me, 
They  say,  poor  gentleman,  he  's  much  distract 

She  recalls  the  trying  experiences  through  which 
she  has  passed : 

A  most  extracting  frenzy  of  mine  own 
From  my  remembrance  clearly  banish'd  his. 

The  Clown  and  Fabian  enter.  The  former  bears 
Malvolio's  letter  to  Olivia.  Fabian  reads  the  letter. 
The  experiences  through  which  Malvolio  has  passed 
have  brought  him  to  his  senses.  The  letter  com- 
plains of  his  ill-treatment  from  Olivia,  and  from  her 
drunken  cousin.    It  is  so  sensible  that  the  Duke  says : 

This  savours  not  much  of  distraction. 

Olivia  orders  Fabian  to 

See  him  delivered,     .     .     .  ;  bring  him  hither. 

As  soon  as  Fabian  makes  his  exit  to  execute  this 
order  the  Main  Action  of  the  drama  is  resumed. 
Olivia  turns  to  the  Duke: 

My  lord,  so  please  you,  these  things  further  thought  on, 
To  think  me  as  well  a  sister  as  a  wife, 
One  day  shall  crown  the  alliance  on  't  so  please  you 
Here  at  my  house  and  at  my  proper  cost. 


Twelfth  Night  379 

The  Duke  embraces  the  offer,  and  then,  turning  to 
Viola,  discharges  her  from  his  service,  and  offers  her 
his  hand  and  heart  in  marriage: 

Your  master  quits  you  ;    and  for  your  service  done  him, 

So  much  against  the  mettle  of  your  sex, 

So  far  beneath  your  soft  and  tender  breeding, 

And  since  you  call'd  me  master  for  so  long, 

Here  is  my  hand  :  you  shall  from  this  time  be 

Your  master's  mistress. 

Olivia  now  accepts  Viola  as  a  sister. 

Again  the  Main  Action  gives  way  to  a  Sub-Ac- 
tion. Thus,  with  perfect  dramatic  technique,  is 
Shakespeare  taking  up,  one  after  another,  the  ac- 
tions of  this  drama,  and  bringing  them  to  a  fitting 
completion.  Fabian  enters  with  Malvolio.  In  very 
strong,  though  courteous  language,  Malvolio  pro- 
tests against  Olivia's  treatment: 

Madam,  you  have  done  me  wrong, 
Notorious  wrong. 

Nothing  has  been  further  from  Olivia's  purpose. 
Conscious  of  her  kindly  intentions  she  is  nonplussed. 
Malvolio  reiterates  his  charge,  and  says: 

.     .     .     Pray  you,  peruse  that  letter. 

This  was  Maria's  obscure  epistle  of  love.  Malvolio 
challenges  Olivia  to  deny  the  authorship  of  the  let- 
ter. Olivia's  insight  was  keen.  She  immediately 
divines  the  cause  of  the  mischief: 

,    ,     .     't  is  Maria's  hand. 


380  Shakespeare's  Plots 

This  is  a  comedy.  It  must  end  happily.  Fabian 
speaks : 

And  let  no  quarrel  nor  no  brawl  to  come 
Taint  the  condition  of  this  present  hour. 

He  then  confesses  frankly  that  he,  Sir  Toby,  and 
Maria  had  conceived  and  executed  this  trick  upon 
Malvolio. 

Comedy  portrays  those  frailties  which  are  venial, 
laughable;  those  which  awaken  in  the  spectator  not 
derision  or  wrath,  but  kindly  mirth.  Shakespeare's 
comedies  are  never  satirical  or  sarcastic.  This  is 
true  of  all  the  comic  characters  in  this  play.  Fabian 
expresses  this  thought  when  he  characterizes  the 
whole  Malvolio  episode  as  being  more  laughable 
than  revengeful: 

How  with  a  sportful  malice  it  was  follow'd, 
May  rather  pluck  on  laughter  than  revenge. 

Olivia  accepts  the  explanation,  and  kindly,  yet 
firmly,  says  to  Malvolio: 

Alas,  poor  fool,  how  have  they  baffled  thee  ! 

The  Clown  frankly  acknowledges  his  share  in  the 
whole  affair,  and  then  comments: 

And  thus  the  whirligig  of  time  brings  in  his  revenges. 

This  is  true  of  human  life.  It  is,  and  of  necessity 
must  be,  also  true  of  a  drama,  which  is  a  portrayal 
of  human  life.  In  the  latter  it  is  called  Poetic  Jus- 
tice.    Malvolio's  excessive  vanity  has  produced  its 


Twelfth  Night  381 

normal  fruit.  It  has  brought  on  him  these  indigni- 
ties, lie  has  not,  however,  sufficient  mental 
strength  to  recognize  that  fact.  He  retires  dis- 
gruntled, and  threatening  vengeance: 

I  '11  be  revenged  on  the  whole  pack  of  you. 

Of  all  in  the  play  he  alone  at  the  conclusion  is  not 
jovial  and  happy.  In  closing  his  dramatic  life  in 
such  an  unhappy  frame  of  mind  Shakespeare  mani- 
fests perfect  Poetic  Justice.  But  even  Malvolio's 
discomfiture  and  unhappiness  must  not  be  allowed 
to  mar  the  happy  conclusion  of  the  play.  Olivia  ex- 
presses some  sympathy  for  him  : 

He  hath  been  most  notoriously  abused. 

To  that  the  Duke,  in  a  kindly  and  conciliatory  spirit, 
adds : 

Pursue  him  and  entreat  him. to  a  peace. 

Nothing  now  remains  for  the  poet  to  do  but  to 
bring  to  a  happy  ending  the  dramatic  lives  of  the 
characters  in  the  Main  Action.  This  is  done  in  the 
last  words  spoken  by  the  Duke: 

A  solemn  combination  shall  be  made 
Of  our  dear  souls.     Meantime,  sweet  sister, 
We  will  not  part  from  hence.     Cesario,  come  ; 
For  so  you  shall  be,  while  you  are  a  man  ; 
But  when  in  other  habits  you  are  seen, 
Orsino's  mistress  and  his  fancy's  queen. 

The  play  began  with  a  request  for  music.  It  is 
pervaded  by  a  lyrical  element.     It  concludes  with 


382  Shakespeare's  Plots 

a  song.  Thus  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  the  play 
Complement  and  Balance  each  other.  The  song 
with  which  the  play  ends  gives  expression  to  much 
profound  and  philosophic  thought.  It  is  an  Epi- 
logue. In  it  human  life  is  epitomized.  The  Clown 
reviews  a  human  life  from  its  beginning,  when  one  is 
a  little  tiny  boyy  through  mans  estate,  and  married 
life,  until  man  reaches  old  age,  and  comes  unto  his 
bed.     The  refrain  of  the  song  is: 

For  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day. 

And  yet,  while  there  is,  as  this  signifies,  a  certain 
amount  of  storm  in  every  human  life,  so  is  there 
also  of  sunshine.  Olivia  had  her  bereavements; 
Viola  and  Sebastian  were  shipwrecked  and  sepa- 
rated ;  the  Duke  was  unsuccessful  in  his  effort  to  win 
Olivia ;  Sir  Toby  and  Sir  Andrew  had  broken  pates ; 
still  to  all  of  them  Fate  was  kind,  and  their  lives 
ended  happily. 

Thus  the  play  ends,  but  the  action  does  not  stop. 

The  Duke's  messenger  is  pursuing  Malvolio,  and 
entreating  him  to  a  peace.     Malvolio 

.     .     .     hath  not  told  us  of  the  captain  yet. 

The  nuptials  of  the  Duke  and  Viola,  of  Olivia  and 
Sebastian,  are  to  be  celebrated.  So  that  artistic 
unfinish,  which  characterizes  every  great  work  of 
art,  is  manifested  in  this  lonely  comedy. 


CHAPTER  VII 

OTHELLO 

INTRODUCTION 
I 

IT  is  a  mistake,  both  of  students  of  history  and  of 
the  drama,  to  study  the  past  in  the  light  of  the 
present,  and  to  judge  alien  societies  by  the  standard 
of  social  conditions  existing  in  one's  native  land.  A 
great  drama  must  be  studied  in  the  light  of  the  time 
and  place  the  life  of  which  it  portrays.  The  time 
of  this  play  was  the  Renaissance,  the  scene  of  it  the 
Venetian  Republic.  Life  then  and  there  differed 
much  from  that  of  the  present  time,  in  this  land. 
Some  of  those  differences  Taine  has  eloquently  de- 
scribed. In  his  essay  on  Napoleon,  whose  ancestors 
were  Italian,  he  says: 

With  us  several  centuries  of  police  and  courts  of  jus- 
tice, of  social  discipline  and  peaceful  habits,  of  heredi- 
tary civilization,  have  diminished  the  force  and  violence 
of  the  passions  natural  to  man  ;  in  Italy,  in  the  Renais- 
sance epoch,  they  were  still  intact :  human  emotions  at 
that  time  were  keener  and  more  profound  than  at  the 
present  day  :  the  appetites  were  more  ardent  and  more 
unbridled  ;   man's  will  was   more  impetuous  and  more 

tenacious ;    whatever    motive    inspired    him,   whether 

383 


384  Shakespeare's  Plots 

pride,  ambition,  jealousy,  hatred,  love,  envy  or  sensual- 
ity, the  inward  spring  strained  with  an  energy  and  re- 
laxed with  a  violence,  that  has  now  disappeared. 

It  is  life  existing  in  such  an  environment  that 
Shakespeare  portrays  in  this  great  urama.  In  study- 
ing  it  we  must,  in  imagination,  place  ourselves  in 
that  environment,  and  from  such  a  point  of  view  see 
and  judge  the  personages  and  actions. 

The  play  begins  with  a  conversation  between  two 
men.  This  is  held  at  night,  in  a  street  of  Venice. 
These  men  are  nominal  friends.  Roderigo  has  such 
unquestioning  confidence  in  Iago's  friendship  that 
he  had  placed  his  purse  at  Iago's  service.  He  is 
reproaching  Iago  for  having  concealed  from  him  the 
knowledge  of  something  which  has  taken  place,  and 
of  which  he,  Iago,  is  cognizant : 

Tush  !  never  tell  me  ;  I  take  it  much  unkindly 

That  thou,  Iago,  who  hast  had  my  purse 

As  if  the  strings  were  thine,  shouldst  know  of  this. 

Iago  vehemently  denies  the  accusation : 

'Sblood,  but  you  will  not  hear  me: 
If  ever  I  did  dream  of  such  a  matter, 
Abhor  me. 

What  is  this  to  which  Roderigo  alludes,  and  of  which 
Iago,  with  so  much  warmth,  professes  entire  igno- 
rance ?  Shakespeare  does  not,  at  this  time,  inform 
us.  He  makes  what  is  simply  an  allusion,  a  vague 
hint,  and  then  introduces  another  subject.  What 
is  the  purpose  of  this  ?     By  so  doing  he  has,  with 


Othello  385 

the  first  words  of  the  play,  awakened  the  curiosity, 
stimulated  the  interest  of  the  spectator.  By  not 
immediately  satisfying  this  curiosity  he  intensifies 
it.     This  is  masterly  technique. 

The  conversation  is  continued  without  any  inter- 
ruption, and  we  are  informed  of  another  fact  of  the 
utmost  importance;  viz.,  the  principal  motive  which 
actuates  Iago  in  all  he  does  in  this  drama: 

Thou  told'st  me  thou  didst  hold  him  in  thy  hat* 

Iago  responds: 

Despise  me,  if  1  uo  not. 

Again  Shakespeare  gives  only  an  intimation  of  the 
truth.  To  whom  does  Roderigo  refer  by  him  ?  We 
are  not  informed  until  later. 

Iago  then  proceeds  to  give  in  detail  the  reasons 
for  his  hatred  of  this  man.  Three  of  his  friends,  of 
high  position  and  great  influence,  besought  this 
person,  whose  identity  has  not  yet  been  revealed, 
to  appoint  Iago  his  lieutenant.  This  request  was 
haughtily  refused.  Michael  Cassio,  a  Florentine, 
had  been  chosen. 

He,  in  good  time,  must  his  lieutenant  be, 

And  I — God  bless  the  mark  ! — his  Moorship's  ancient. 

We  are  now,  for  the  first  time,  informed  that  the 
object  of  Iago's  hate  is  the  Moor. 

After  making  these  statements  Iago  says  to 
Roderigo: 

Now,  sir,  be  judge  yourself, 
Whether  I  in  any  just  term  am  affined 
To  love  the  Moor. 


386  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Roderigo  responds: 

I  would  not  follow  him  then. 

Iago  follows  him  but  to  make  use  of  him : 

In  following  him,  I  follow  but  myself  ; 
Heaven  is  my  judge,  not  I  for  love  and  duty, 
But  seeming  so,  for  my  peculiar  end: 
For  when  my  outward  action  doth  demonstrate 
The  native  act  and  figure  of  my  heart 
In  compliment  extern,  't  is  not  long  after 
But  I  will  wear  my  heart  upon  my  sleeve 
For  daws  to  peck  at  :   I  am  not  what  I  am. 

In  this  conversation  Shakespeare  has  revealed  to  us 
Iago,  his  character,  his  motives,  his  purposes.  He 
is  a  consummate  hypocrite,  an  irredeemable  villain. 
He  is  a  perfect  example  of  "  the  corrupt  Italian  in- 
tellect of  the  Renaissance."  ' 

Roderigo  now  returns  to  the  subject  referred  to  in 
the  opening  lines  of  the  play: 

What  a  full  fortune  does  the  thick-lips  owe, 
If  he  can  carry  't  thus  ! 

Iago  advises: 

Call  up  her  father, 
Rouse  him. 

Both  go  to  Brabantio's  house,  and  awake  him. 
Brabantio  appears  at  the  window.  Iago  addresses 
him: 

1  Lowell,  Old  English  Dramatists,  p.  76. 


Othello  387 

Zounds,  sir,   you  're  robb'd  ;    for  shame,  put  on  your 
gown. 

Brabantio  recognizes  Roderigo,  to  whom  he  says: 

I  have  charged  thee  not  to  haunt  about  my  doors : 

In  honest  plainness  thou  hast  heard  me  say 

My  daughter  is  not  for  thee  ;  and  now,  in  madness, 

Being  full  of  supper  and  distempering  draughts, 

Upon  malicious  bravery,  dost  thou  come 

To  start  my  quiet. 

From  these  words  of  Brabantio  we  now,  for  the  first 
time,  learn  that  Roderigo  is  a  rejected  suitor  of 
Brabantio's  daughter.  The  cause  of  Roderigo's 
hatred  to  Othello  is  revealed.  He  had  failed  where 
Othello  had  been  successful. 
To  Brabantio's  rebuke  Roderigo  responds: 

Do  not  believe 
That,  from  the  sense  of  all  civility, 
I  thus. would  play  and  trifle  with  your  reverence  : 
Your  daughter,  if  you  have  not  given  her  leave, 
I  say  again,  hath  made  a  gross  revolt ; 
Tying  her  duty,  beauty,  wit  and  fortunes 
In  an  extravagant  and  wheeling  stranger 
Of  here  and  every  where. 

Brabantio,  thoroughly  alarmed,  arouses  his  peo- 
ple. He  has  had  a  dream  which  forebodes  trouble. 
Shakespeare  thus  lightly  touches  the  emotional 
chord  that  vibrates  through  the  drama. 

Brabantio  withdraws  into  his  house.  Iago  and 
Roderigo  are  left  alone.  Then  Iago  makes  a  state- 
ment to  Roderigo,  the  dramatic  purpose  of  which  is : 


388  Shakespeare's  Plots 

I. — To  reveal  again  Iago's  motives  and  purposes. 

II.— To  inform  the  spectator  of  the  drama  of  the 
Cyprus  wars,  and  that  Othello  has  been  selected  to 
lead  the  Venetian  forces. 

III. — That  Othello  was  a  great  commander. 

Iago  says: 

Farewell ;  for  I  must  leave  you  :  seq. 

He  then  retires.  Brabantio  and  his  servants  enter. 
He  addresses  Roderigo,  and  in  the  conversation 
which  follows  we  are,  for  the  first  time,  definitely 
and  distinctly  informed  of  that  to  which  Roderigo 
referred  in  the  opening  lines  of  the  play;  viz.,  the 
marriage  of  Othello  and  Desdemona. 

It  is  too  true  an  evil  :  gone  she  is ; 

With  the  Moor,  say'st  thou  ? 

Are  they  married,  think  you  } 

Roderigo  answers: 

Truly,  I  think  they  are. 

Thus,  like  the  sun,  which  does  not  rise  suddenly 
or  full-orbed,  but  slowly,  and  gradually  dissipates 
the  darkness  of  the  night,  so  does  Shakespeare 
gradually  inform  us  of  the  circumstances  which  have 
caused  the  action  of  the  drama. 

Brabantio  once  more  refers  to  Roderigo's  rejected 
suit  of  Desdemona: 

O,  would  you  had  had  her ! 


Othello  389 

Brabantio  and  his  servants,  led  by  Roderigo,  then 
start  to  seek  Othello  and  Desdemona. 

Iago,  who  had  left  Roderigo  and  gone  to  seek  the 
Moor,  found  him.  Scene  2  opens  with  a  conversa- 
tion between  them.  This  is  the  first  appearance  of 
Othello.  This  conversation  is  held  on  the  same 
night,  in  another  street  of  Venice.  Othello  and 
Iago  are  surrounded  by  the  former's  attendants. 
They  carry  torches.  The  grouping  is  very  effective. 
A  drama  is  written  to  be  acted.  When  studying  it 
this  fact  must  constantly  be  borne  in  mind. 

Iago,  of  whose  character  some  revelation  has  been 
made  in  the  first  Scene,  now  further  manifests  his 
heartless  duplicity.  He  tells  Othello  he  has  been 
restrained  from  killing  some  one  by  his  conscience, 
which  is  very  sensitive: 

Though  in  the  trade  of  war  I  have  slain  men, 

Yet  do  I  hold  it  very  stuff  o'  the  conscience 

To  do  no  contrived  murder  :  I  lack  iniquity 

Sometimes  to  do  me  service  :  nine  cr  ten  times 

I  had  thought  to  have  yerk'd  him  here  under  the  ribs. 

To  whom  does  Iago  refer  ?  Shakespeare  does  not 
tell  us.  Thus  again  he  appeals  to  the  curiosity, 
awakens  the  interest,  of  the  spectator. 

The  first  words  of  Othello  reveal  him  to  be  a  man 
conscious  of  his  own  rectitude,  calm,  courageous: 

'T  is  better  as  it  is. 

Iago  proceeds  to  tell  Othello  of  the  scurvy  and 
provoking  terms  which  the  magnifico,  Brabantio, 
spake  against  him.     He  then  inquires: 


39°  Shakespeare's  Plots 

But,  I  pray  you,  sir, 
Are  you  fast  married  ? 

and  warns  him : 

Be  assured  of  this, 


.     .     .     he  will  divorce  you  ; 
Or  put  upon  you  what  restraint  and  grievance 
The  law,  with  all  his  might  to  enforce  it  on, 
Will  give  him  cable. 

Othello  speaks.  He  tells  Iago,  and  in  so  doing  in- 
forms the  spectators  of  the  drama,  about  himself, 
his  services  to  the  Republic  of  Venice,  his  lineage, 
his  love  for  Desdemona,  which  alone  induced  him 
to  marry  her: 

Let  him  do  his  spite  ; 
My  services  which  I  have  done  the  signiory 
Shall  out-tongue  his  complaints.     *T  is  yet  to  know,— 

.     .     .     I  fetch  my  life  and  being 
From  men  of  royal  siege,  and  my  demerits 
May  speak  unbonneted  to  as  proud  a  fortune 
As  this  that  I  have  reach'd  :  for  know,  Iago, 
But  that  I  love  the  gentle  Desdemona, 
I  would  not  my  unhoused  free  condition 
Put  into  circumscription  and  confine 
For  the  sea's  worth. 

A  crowd,  with  torches,  approaches.  Iago  suspects 
it  is  Brabantio  and  his  friends,  led  by  Roderigo. 
He  advises  Othello  to  seek  shelter.  Othello  in- 
stantly and  firmly  refuses: 


Othello  391 

Not  I  ;  I  must  be  found  : 

My  parts,  my  title  and  my  perfect  soul 

Shall  manifest  me  rightly. 

Iago  was  mistaken.  The  company  approaching 
was  composed  of  Cassio  and  some  Officers.  We 
have  been  informed  by  Iago  that  Cassio  had  been 
appointed  by  Othello  his  lieutenant.  Now  Cassio 
appears,  bringing  a  message  from  the  Duke  to 
Othello: 

The  duke  does  greet  you,  general, 

And  he  requires  your  haste-post-haste  appearance, 

Even  on  the  instant. 

Othello  retires  into  the  house  to  spend  (speak)  a 
word.  In  Othello's  absence  Iago  informs  Cassio  of 
Othello's  marriage,  of  which  Cassio  professes  entire 
ignorance.  He,  however,  knew  of  it,  as  Othello 
later  informs  us,  from  first  to  last.  That  knowledge 
Cassio  considered  confidential,  and,  therefore,  he 
pretended  ignorance. 

Othello,  a  moment  later,  returns.  Directly  there- 
after Brabantio,  Roderigo,  and  Officers,  with  torches 
and  weapons,  enter,  seeking  Othello.  This  is  effec- 
tive Grouping. 

On  one  side  :  On  other  side  : 

Othello,  Iago,  attendants.    Cas-  Brabantio,    Roderigo,    Officers, 

sio,  Officers.     All  armed,  and  attendants    bearing     torches, 

bearing  torches.  and  with  drawn  weapons. 

Brabantio's  grief  and  rage  are  almost  uncontrol- 
lable. He  insults  Othello.  All  except  Othello 
draw  their  swords.     He  says: 


392  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Hold  your  hands, 
Both  you  of  my  inclining,  and  the  rest : 
Were  it  my  cue  to  fight,  I  should  have  known  if 
Without  a  prompter. 

Othello  informs  Brabantio  that  messengers  from 
the  Duke 

are  here  about  my  side, 
Upon  some  present  business  of  the  state 
To  bring  me  to  him. 

The  First  Officer  confirms  this,  and  adds: 

The  duke's  in  council,  and  your  noble  self, 
I  am  sure,  is  sent  for. 

The  whole  party  then  retire  to  seek  the  Duke,  and 
the  Scene  ends. 

The  action  of  the  drama  is  now  transferred  to  the 
council-chamber  of  the  republic.  Seated  around  a 
table  are  the  Duke,  Senators,  Officers  of  the  State. 
The.  subject  of  the  conference,  which  has  been 
hastily  called,  is  the  threatened  attack  of  the  Turk 
upon  Cyprus.  A  Turkish  fleet,  which  one  report 
says  is  composed  of  one  hundred  and  seven  galleys, 
another  of  one  hundred  and  forty,  another  of  two 
hundred,  is 

.     .     ,     bearing  up  to  Cyprus. 

A  sailor  enters  with  later  news: 

The  Turkish  preparation  makes  for  Rhodes. 

Still  another  Messenger  enters  hurriedly,  and  brings 
information  from  Signior  Montano,  the  commander 
of  the  Venetian  forces  at  Cyprus: 


Othello  393 

The  Ottomites,  reverend  and  gracious, 

Steering  with  due  course  towards  the  isle  of  Rhodes, 

Have  there  injointed  them  with  an  after  fleet. 

At  this  moment  Brabantio,  Othello,  Iago,  Rod- 
crigo,  and  Officers  enter.     The  Duke  says: 

Valiant  Othello,  we  nust  straight  employ  you 
Against  the  general  enemy  Ottoman. 

Brabantio,  responding  to  the  Duke's  greeting, 
speaks  of  that  matter  which  has  brought  him  to  the 
council-chamber: 

My  daughter !     O,  my  daughter  ! 

The  Duke  promises  him  redress.  Brabantio  informs 
the  council  that  the  man  who  has  injured  him  is  the 
Moor.  The  members  of  the  council  express  their 
regret.  Brabantio  now  briefly  describes  his  daugh- 
ter: 

A  maiden  never  bold  ; 
Of  spirit  so  still  and  quiet,  that  her  motion 
Blush'd  at  herself. 

The  dramatic  purpose  of  this  description  is  twofold  ; 
to  inform  the  spectator  about  Desdemona,  and  to 
prepare  for  her  entrance. 

Brabantio  then  draws  the  conclusion  that  a  woman 
like  Desdemona,  of  gentle  birth,  could  not  have 
married  a  man  like  Othello,  of  tawny  skin,  thick 
lips,  unless  she  had  been  bewitched.  Othello 
speaks: 


394  Shakespeare's  Plots 

I  do  beseech  you, 
Send  for  the  lady  to  the  Sagittary, 
And  let  her  speak  of  me  before  her  fathei  : 

And,  till  she  come,  as  truly  as  to  heaven 
I  do  confess  the  vices  of  my  blood, 
So  justly  to  your  grave  ears  I  '11  present 
How  I  did  thrive  in  this  fair  lady's  love, 
And  she  in  mine. 

He  relates 

.     .     .     the  story  of  mv  life, 
From  year  to  year,  the  battles,  sieges,  fortunes, 
That  I  have  pass'd. 

Thus  Desdemona  was  won: 

She  loved  me  for  the  dangers  I  had  pass'd, 
And  I  loved  her  that  she  did  pity  them. 

Desdemona,  for  whose  appearance  Shakespeare 
has  made  such  ample  preparations  by  informing  us 
about  her  and  her  marriage,  now  enters.  Her  father 
addresses  her: 

Come  hither,  gentle  mistress  : 
Do  you  perceive  in  all  this  noble  company 
Where  most  you  owe  obedience  ? 

Desdemona  is  loyal  to  her  husband.     She  replies: 

And  so  much  duty  as  my  mother  show'd 
To  you,  preferring  you  before  her  father, 
So  much  I  challenge  that  I  may  profess 
Due  to  the  Moor  my  lord. 


Othello  395 

The  Duke  advises  Brabantio  to  bear  his  loss  phil- 
osophically. 

To  mourn  a  mischief  that  is  nast  and  gone 
Is  the  next  way  to  draw  new  mischief  on. 

The  robb'd  that  smiles  steals  something  from  the  thief  ; 
He  robs  himself  that  spends  a  bootless  grief. 

Brabantio  wittily  and  ironically  responds: 

So  let  the  Turk  of  Cyprus  us  beguile  ; 
We  lose  it  not,  so  long  as  we  can  smile. 

The  Duke  now  turns  to  Othello  and  informs  him 
of  the  threatened  attack  of  the  Turks  upon  Cyprus, 
also  that  he  has  been  chosen  to  defend  the  island. 
Thus  by  a  transition  which  is  unforced,  perfectly 
natural,  Shakespeare  directs  the  attention  of  the 
spectator  from  Brabantio's  grievance  to  the  Turk. 
Shakespeare's  technique  here  is  in  the  highest  de- 
gree artistic. 

Othello  accepts  the  command  of  the  Venetian 
forces.  He  requests  that  Desdemona  may  accom- 
pany him.  She  reiterates  this  request.  The  Duke 
consents: 

Be  it  as  you  shall  privately  determine, 

Either  for  her  stay  or  going  :  the  affair  cries  haste, 

And  speed  must  answer  it. 

Othello  is  ordered  to  leave  Venice  that  night.  The 
Duke  informs  him  his  commission  and  Desdemona 
will  be  sent  after  him.  Othello  selects  Iago  as  the 
officer  to  be  intrusted  with  both. 


396  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Then  occur  the  farewells.  Although  apparently 
of  slight  importance,  they  possess  the  greatest 
dramatic  significance. 

First  Sen.     Adieu,  brave  Moor ;  use  Desdemona  well. 
Bra.     Look  to  her,  Moor,  if  thou  hast  eyes  to  see  : 
She  has  deceived  her  father,  and  may  thee. 

In  both  these  remarks  the  action  of  the  drama  is 
vividly  foreshadowed.  All  retire  except  Othello, 
Desdemona,  Iago,  Roderigo.  Othello  responds  to 
Brabantio's  warning: 

My  life  upon  her  faith  ! 
Then  turning  to  Iago,  he  says: 

Honest  Iago, 
My  Desdemona  must  I  leave  to  thee: 
I  prithee,  let  thy  wife  attend  on  her ; 
And  bring  them  after  in  the  best  advantage. 

Othello  and  Desdemona  now  retire.  Roderigo 
and  Iago  are  left  alone.  The  last  conversation  in 
the  Introduction,  like  the  first,  is  between  them. 
In  it  Shakespeare  makes  them  reveal  once  more, 
and  still  more  clearly,  their  inmost  thoughts  and 
feelings,  the  secret  springs  of  all  their  actions. 
Roderigo,  the  discarded  suitor  of  Desdemona,  says: 

I  will  incontinently  drown  myself. 

Iago  responds : 

Why,  thou  silly  gentleman  t 

Roderigo  replies : 


Othello  397 

It  is  silliness  to  live  when  to  live  is  torment  ;  and  then 
have  we  a  prescription  to  die  when  death  is  our  physician. 

Iago  expresses  the  utmost  contempt  for  such 
opinions: 

Ere  I  would  say,  I  would  drown  myself  for  the  love 
of  a  guinea-hen,  I  would  change  my  humanity  with  a 
baboon. 

As  flowers  are  ruined  by  a  killing  frost,  so  Roderigo's 
better  nature  is  blighted  by  Iago's  cynical  disbelief 
in  virtue  and  love: 

What  should  I  do  ?  I  confess  it  is  my  shame  to  be  so 
fond  ;  but  it  is  not  in  my  virtue  to  amend  it. 

Iago  perceives  he  has  Roderigo  completely  under 
his  influence.  He  professes  anew  his  friendship  for 
him : 

I  could  never  better  stead  thee  than  now, 

and  then  proceeds: 

Put  money  in  thy  purse  ;  ...  if  sanctimony  and 
a  frail  vow  betwixt  an  erring  barbarian  and  a  super- 
subtle  Venetian  be  not  too  hard  for  my  wits  and  all  the 
tribe  of  hell,  thou  shalt  enjoy  her. 

Nothing  in  all  literature  is  more  selfish,  cynical, 
heartless,  treacherous,  envenomed,  than  this  advice 
of  Iago  to  Roderigo.  The  result  of  the  conversa- 
tion is: 

Rod.     I  am  changed  :  I  '11  go  sell  all  my  land. 

Iago,  who  is  the  Complicating  force,  who  domi- 
nates the  first  half  of  the  play,  is  now  left  alone.     In 


398  Shakespeare's  Plots 

a  soliloquy,  with  which  the  Introduction  ends,  He 
reveals  his  motives  and  methods,  and  in  so  doing 
foreshadows  the  action  of  the  drama. 

Thus  do  I  ever  make  my  fool  my  purse ;  seq. 

Iago  has  two  motives :  /  hate  the  Moor;  To  get 
[Cassio' s]  place. 

These  purposes  constitute  his  double  knavery.  Ho\% 
does  he  carry  them  into  execution? 

I  have  't.     It  is  engender'd.     Hell  and  night 

Must  bring  this  monstrous  birth  to  the  world's  light. 

The  Introduction  of  a  drama  is  expository,  nar- 
rative. Like  the  rising  sun  it  is  light-giving.  This 
Inlroduction  is  a  masterpiece.     In  it 

I. — All  the  principal  characters  are  introduced. 
Iago,  Othello,  Cassio,  Roderigo,  Desdemona,  ap- 
pear in  person.  Emilia  is  referred  to  by  Othello, 
when  he  said  to  Iago: 

I  prithee,  let  thy  wife  attend  on  her. 

Of  all  these  persons,  with  the  exception  of  Cassio 
and  Emilia,  the  fundamental  traits,  salient  features, 
are  clearly  revealed. 

II. — All  necessary  information  as  to  the  causes  of 
the  action  of  the  drama  have  been  given.  Those 
causes  were: 

(a.)  Rejection  by  Othello  of  Iago's  request  for  the 
Lieutenancy,  and  selection  of  Cassio  for  that  posi 
lion. 


Othello  399 

(b.)  Unsuccessful  suit  of  Roderigo  for  Desde- 
mona's  hand. 

(c.)  Marriage  of  Othello  and  Desdemona. 

III. — The  emotional  chord  that  vibrates  through 
the  play,  and  which  is  tragic,  is  touched: 

(a.)  The  unhappiu°ss  of  Brabantio,  which  is 
caused  by  his  daughter's  elopement  and  marriage. 

(6.)  The  war  between  Venice  and  Turkey. 

IV. — The  Main  Action  of  the  drama  is  clearly 
foreshadowed : 

After  some  time,  to  abuse  Othello's  ear, 
That  he  [Cassio]  is  too  familiar  with  his  wife. 

The  action  of  the  drama  takes  place  at  Cyprus. 
When  the  Venetian  fleet  bearing  Othello,  Desde- 
mona, Iago,  Cassio,  and  others,  sails  for  Cyprus, 
the  Growth,  or  second  division  of  the  drama,  begins. 

GROWTH 

II 

The  play  we  are  studying  is  a  tragedy.  The 
action  is  carried  forward  by  six  persons,  four  men, 
two  women.  Of  these,  two,  Cassio,  Iago,  are 
severely  wounded;  four,  Desdemona,  Emilia,  Rod- 
erigo, Othello,  meet  violent  deaths.  It  is  therefore 
very  artistic,  and  manifests  fine  technique  on  Shake- 
speare's part,  that  the  action  of  a  drama  which  ends 
so  tragically  should  be  ushered  in  with  a  storm. 

As  the  lovely  lake  reflects  the  flowers  and  trees  on 
its  border,  the  clouds  in  the  sky  above  it,  so  Nature 
reflects  the  varying  moods  of  human  thought  and 


4oo  Shakespeare's  Plots 

emotion.  The  storms  and  tempests  of  the  ocean 
but  typify  what  Shakespeare  in  Antony  and  Cleopa- 
tra describes  as  those  greater  storms  and  tempests 
than  almanacs  can  report,  viz.,  those  that  rage  in 
the  human  breast. 

The  action  of  the  drama  commences  with  the  sail- 
ing of  the  Venetian  fleet  from  Venice  to  Cyprus,  to 
defend  that  place  against  the  threatened  attack  of 
the  Turks.  As  the  fleet  approaches  Cyprus  a 
violent  storm  is  raging.  With  a  description  of  it 
Shakespeare  begins  the  Growth  of  this  play.  Stand- 
ing  on  the  shore  are  Montano,  the  Venetian  Gover- 
nor of  the  island,  and  two  Gentlemen.  Montano 
says : 

A  fuller  blast  ne'er  shook  our  battlements. 

He  asks  the  question  : 

What  shall  we  hear  of  this  ? 

To  this  a  second  Gentleman  replies: 

A  segregation  [disintegration,  breaking  up]  of  the 
Turkish  fleet. 

This  is  most  suggestive.     Its  dramatic  purport  will 
be  apparent  in  a  little  while. 

This  second  Gentleman  then,  and  more  in  detail, 
describes  the  tempest.  Montano  responds  with 
another  allusion  to  the  destruction  of  the  Turkish 
fleet.  A  third  Gentleman  now  enters,  and  states 
that  the  destruction  of  the  Turkish  fleet,  which, 
heretofore,  has  been  a  surmise,  is  an  actual  fact : 


Othello  401 

News,  lads  !  our  wars  are  done. 

The  desperate  tempest  hath  so  bang'd  the  Turks, 

That  their  designment  halts  :  scq. 

Why  has  Shakespeare  destroyed  this  fleet?  This 
tragedy  is  not  in  scope  international,  as  is  Henry  V., 
which  portrays  the  war  between  England  and 
France.  Nor  is  it  national,  as  is  Richard  III r.,  which 
portrays  the  civil  conflict  that  raged  in  England  be- 
tween the  Houses  of  York  and  Lancaster.  Rather 
it  is  domestic.  The  scene  of  it  is  the  home  of 
Othello.  The  war  between  the  Turks  and  Vene- 
tians forms  no  part  of  the  action  of  the  drama. 
Shakespeare,  therefore,  at  the  very  beginning  of 
the  action,  causes  the  Turkish  fleet  to  be  wrecked 
and  to  disappear. 

The  arrival  of  a  ship  bearing  Cassio  is  now  an- 
nounced. Anxiety  as  to  the  safety  of  the  Moor  is 
expressed.  Montano,  the  Governor,  incidentally 
pays  a  tribute  to  Othello's  ability  as  a  commander: 

the  man  commands 
Like  a  full  [complete,  perfect]  soldier. 

The  dramatic  purpose  of  this  is  to  give  the  specta- 
tor further  information  regarding  the  hero  of  the 
play. 

A  moment  later  Cassio  enters.  Shortly  after  a 
ship  is  sighted,  and  guns  are  heard.  While  some 
have  gone  to  learn  what  ship  it  is,  and  whom  it 
brings,  Montano  asks  Cassio: 

But,  good  lieutenant,  is  your  general  wived  ? 

Cassio  answers: 
•6 


402  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Most  fortunately  :  he  hath  achieved  a  maid 
That  paragons  description  and  wild  fame. 

A  moment  later  he  adds: 

Tempests  themselves,  high  seas  and  howling  winds, 
The  gutter'd  rocks  and  congregated  sands, — 
Traitors  ensteep'd  to  clog  the  guiltless  keel, — 
As  having  sense  of  beauty,  do  omit 
Their  mortal  natures,  letting  go  safely  by 
The  divine  Desdemona. 

Shakespeare,  by  these  remarks  of  Cassio,  gives  the 
spectator  further  information  of  Desdemona. 

One  quality  of  a  great  drama  is,  it  must  be  self- 
explanatory.  Shakespeare  conforms  to  this  canon 
of  Art  by  these  side-lights,  thrown  incidentally, 
indirectly,  in  conversation,  upon  the  principal  char- 
acters. Othello  commands  like  a  full  soldier  ;  Des- 
demona paragons  description  and  wild  fame,  is  the 
divine  Desdemona. 

The  ship  which  has  just  arrived  does  not  bring 
Othello,  but  Iago,  Desdemona,  Emilia,  Roderigo. 
Desdemona  is  greeted  by  Cassio,  and  immediately 
inquires: 

What  tidings  can  you  tell  me  of  my  lord? 

Guns  are  heard,  and  from  within  a  shout,  A  sail, 
a  sail !  Cassio  sends  a  Messenger  for  news.  The 
ship  seen  is  that  bearing  Othello.  The  guns  heard 
are  his  greeting  to  the  citadel.  He  does  not,  how- 
ever, appear  at  once.     Why  ? 

One  great  danger  against  which  the  dramatist 
must  guard  in  writing  this  part  of  the  drama  is  too 


Othello  403 

rapid  progress  of  the  Main  Action.  To  avoid  this 
danger  Shakespeare  now  introduces  an  Episode. 
This  consists  of  a  bantering  conversation  between 
Iago  on  the  one  hand,  and  first  Emilia,  later  Desde- 
mona,  on  the  other. 

Cassio  welcomes  Iago,  then  Emilia,  kissing  her. 
As  he  does  so,  Iago  says: 

Sir,  would  she  give  you  so  much  of  her  lips 
As  of  her  tongue  she  oft  bestows  on  me, 
You  'Id  have  enough. 

Desdemona,  who  is  attached  to  Emilia,  checks  him. 
Emilia  herself  chides  him.  Iago,  who  is  nothing  if 
not  critical,  continues: 

Come  on,  come  on  ;  you  are  pictures  out  of  doors, 
Hells  in  your  parlours,  wild-cats  in  your  kitchens, 
Saints  in  your  injuries,  devils  being  offended, 
Players  in   your   housewifery,  and  housewives  in  your 
beds 

Emilia,  as  the  subject  of  the  conversation,  is  now 
dropped.  She  gives  place  to  her  mistress.  Desde- 
mona asks  Iago: 

What  wouldst  thou  write  of  me,  if  thou  shouldst  praise 
me  ? 

and  then  adds: 

I  am  not  merry  ;  but  I  do  beguile 
The  thing  I  am,  by  seeming  otherwise. 

This  is  one  of  Shakespeare's  fine  touches  which 
manifest  his  art.  In  Desdemona's  remark  he  again 
strikes  the  tragic  chord  that  vibrates  through  the 


404  Shakespeare's  Plots 

play,  and  by  so  doing  foreshadows  the  Catastrophe. 
Iago,   with  some  hesitancy  and  apparent  reluc. 
tance,  at  last  answers  Desdemona's  question : 

If  she  be  fair  and  wise,  fairness  and  wit, 
The  one  's  for  use,  the  other  useth  it. 

Desdemona  then  asks  him  for  his  opinion  of  a 
woman  black  and  witty  ;  Emilia,  of  one  who  is  fair 
and  foolish  ;  Desdemona,  of  one  foul  and foolish^  and 
finally:  But  what  praise  couldst  thou  bestozv  on  a 
deserving  woman  indeed?     Iago  replies: 

She  that  was  ever  fair  and  never  proud,  seq. 

Desdemona  is  disgusted.  She  turns  to  Cassio  and 
engages  him  in  conversation.  Iago  reveals  his 
secret  thoughts  and  purposes  in  an  aside.  In  so 
doing — and  this  is  the  dramatic  purpose  of  this 
soliloquy — he  unfolds  his  plan  to  ruin  Cassio. 

He  takes  her  by  the  palm  :  ay,  well  said,  whisper; 
with  as  little  a  web  as  this  will  I  ensnare  as  great  a  fly  as 
Cassio  :  seq. 

This  Episode,  having  accomplished  its  purpose, 
viz.,  prevention  of  too  rapid  progress  of  the  Main 
Action,  is  brought  to  a  close,  and  the  action  of  the 
drama  resumes  movement.  A  trumpet  sounds. 
Othello  enters. 

Shakespeare  in  this  play  manifests  perfect  Grada- 
tion. In  Nature  there  is  everywhere  and  always 
Gradation.  The  sounds  of  winds,  waters,  singing 
of  birds,  are  not  sharp,  abrupt,  but  rise  and  fall 
with  regular  and  measured  crescendo  and  diminu- 


Othello  405 

endo.  Colors  shade  gradually  and  harmoniously 
into  one  another.  Tints  of  grasses,  leaves,  flowers; 
sunshine  and  shade ;  the  colors  in  plumage  of  birds, 
the  fur  of  animals,  all  blend.  Two  colors  which  do 
not  blend  are  never  put  by  the  Creator  next  to  each 
other.  Between  them  are  always  shades  of  those 
colors.  There  are  plains,  hills,  mountains.  The 
extreme  cold  of  winter  is  not  immediately  followed 
by  the  torrid  heat  of  summer.  Spring  and  autumn 
are  between  these  two  extremes  of  temperature. 
Based  on  these  laws  of  Nature  there  is  in  Art  a  Law 
of  Gradation. 

In  this  play  Shakespeare  conforms  to  this  canon 
of  Art.  At  the  beginning  of  the  action  he  does  not 
introduce  the  characters  in  the  drama  at  once,  or  all 
together,  but  gradually,  one  following  another. 
Nor  does  he  introduce  the  most  important  charac- 
ters first.  They  appear  one  following  another  in 
the  order  of  their  importance  in  the  drama.  First 
comes  Cassio;  then  a  group  composed  of  Emilia, 
Roderigo,  Iago,  Desdemona.  Finally,  the  hero, 
Othello,  appears. 

With  Othello's  entrance  the  movement  of  the 
action  is  resumed.  The  greetings  of  Othello  and 
Desdemona  are  expressive  of  the  truest  and  holiest 
love,  and  are  described  by  Shakespeare  in  verses 
which  are  perfect.  There  is,  however,  in  them,  and 
this  is  most  suggestive,  an  undercurrent  of  forebod- 
ing.    Othello  says: 

It  gives  me  wonder  great  as  my  content 
To  see  you  here  before  me.     .     .     . 


406  Shakespeare's  Plots 

.     .     .     If  it  were  now  to  die, 
'T  were  now  to  be  most  happy  ;  for,  I  fear, 
My  soul  hath  her  content  so  absolute 
That  not  another  comfort  like  to  this 
Succeeds  in  unknown  fate. 

Nor  are  these  forebodings  of  ill  groundless.  Iago 
stands  beside  Othello  and  Desdemona.  In  an  aside, 
he  says : 

O,  you  are  well  tuned  now  ! 
But  I  '11  set  down  the  pegs  that  make  this  music, 
As  honest  as  I  am. 

Othello  once  more  announces:  .  .  .  our  wars 
are  done,  the  Turks  are  drown  d.     He  orders  Iago: 

Go  to  the  bay  and  disembark  my  coffers. 

Then  he  greets  Desdemona  again,  and  all  make 
their  exit  except  Iago  and  Roderigo. 

No  sooner  are  these  two  men  alone  than  Iago 
reveals  his  plans  to  Roderigo,  and  solicits  his  assist- 
ance: 

The  lieutenant  to-night  watches  on  the  court  of 
guard: — first,  I  must  tell  thee  this — Desdemona  is 
directly  in  love  with  him. 

Roderigo  dissents,  but  Iago's  domination  over  him 
is  complete.     Iago  continues: 

But,  sir,  be  you  ruled  by  me:  I  have  brought  you 
from  Venice.  Watch  you  to-night  ;  for  the  command 
I  '11  lay  't  upon  you.  Cassio  knows  you  not.  I  '11  not  be 
far  from  you:  do  you  find  some  occasion  to  anger 
Cassio. 


Othello  407 

Roderigo  assents,  and  retires.  Iago  is  left  alone. 
In  a  soliloquy  he  again  reveals  his  secret  motives, 
his  devilish  purposes: 

That  Cassio  loves  her,  I  do  well  believe  it ;  seq. 

Very  expressive,  and  very  suggestive,  is  Shake- 
speare's iteration  and  reiteration  that  Iago  hates 
Othello,  and  suspects  him  of  being  intimate  with 
Emilia. 

I  have  told  thee  often,  and  I  re-tell  thee  again  and 
again,  I  hate  the  Moor. 

I  hate  the  Moor  ; 
And  it  is  thought  abroad,  that  'twixt  my  sheets 
He  has  done  my  office. 

For  that  I  do  suspect  the  lusty  Moor 

Hath  leap'd  into  my  seat  ;  the  thought  whereof 

Doth,  like  a  poisonous  mineral,  gnaw  my  inwards. 

This  subject  is  unpleasant.  Why  did  Shakespeare 
wish,  and  so  strenuously  attempt,  to  impress  it 
on  the  mind  of  the  spectator  ?  Iago  is  a  villain. 
He  has  no  faith  in  man  or  woman;  in  human  good- 
ness, virtue,  love.  His  whole  effort  is  to  ruin 
those  around  him.  Nearly  every  one  of  the  other 
dramatis  persona?  become  his  victims.  Owing  to 
his  knavery  Cassio  is  cashiered,  disgraced,  wounded. 
Roderigo,  Emilia,  Desdemona,  Othello,  all  are 
brought  to  their  deaths  by  his  malignity.  In  por- 
traying a  character  so  diabolical  the  dramatist  is  in 
danger  of  making  the  man  so  bad  that  he  ceases  to 
be  human — becomes  a  monster,  a  fiend.     The  result 


408  Shakespeare's  Plots 

of  so  doing  is,  the  sympathy,  the  interest,  of  the 
spectator  are  alienated.  Shakespeare  guards  against 
this  danger  by  giving  Iago  a  reason  for  his  malice. 
This  reason  is  a  suspicion  that  Othello  has  injured 
him.  Shakespeare  impresses  this  reason  on  the 
minds  of  the  spectators  by  repeating  it,  in  differ- 
ent  forms,  at  different  times.  This  is  technically 
Dramatic  Hedging. 

The  second  Scene  is  episodic.  It  is  devoted  to 
the  reading  of  a  proclamation  by  a  Herald  import- 
ing the  mere  perdition  of  the  Turkish  fleet.  In  it 
Othello  orders  a  general  holiday, 

from  this  present  hour  of  five  till  the  bell  have  told 
eleven, 

to  celebrate  that  event,  and  also  his  own  nuptials. 

In  Scene  3  the  action  takes  place  at  the  castle, 
the  official  residence  of  the  Venetian  commander. 
Here  are  gathered  Othello,  Desdemona,  Cassio,  and 
attendants.     Othello  addresses  Cassio: 

Good  Michael,  look  you  to  the  guard  to-night. 

He  adds  a  few  words  of  gentle  warning,  wise 
counsel: 

Let 's  teach  ourselves  that  honourable  stop, 
Not  to  outsport  discretion. 

In  view  of  Cassio's  conduct  but  an  hour  or  two  later 
this  is  profoundly  suggestive.  It  is  fine  fore- 
shadowing.    Cassio  responds: 

Iago  hath  direction  what  to  do ; 

But,  notwithstanding,  with  my  personal  eye 

Will  I  look  to  't. 


Othello  409 

Othello  expresses  perfect  confidence  in  Iago,  who, 
he  asserts,  is  most  honest.  This  is  not  the  first  time 
he  has  done  so.  He  thus  reveals  to  us  how  com- 
pletely  he  is  deceived  by  Iago,  and  that  he  is  in  a 
suitable  mental  and  emotional  condition  to  be 
Iago's  dupe. 

Othello  bids  Cassio  good  night,  and  orders  him  to 
report  early  next  morning.  He,  Desdemona,  and 
attendants,  retire.  As  they  do  so  Iago  enters,  and 
he  and  Cassio  are  alone. 

At  the  close  of  the  first  Scene  of  the  Growth 
Iago  in  a  soliloquy  said: 

I  '11  have  our  Michael  Cassio  on  the  hip, 

and  then  adds: 

'T  is  here,  but  yet  confused. 

What  he  meant  was  that  his  plan  was  to  abuse 
Cassio  to  Othello,  but  how  to  do  so  he  had  not 
definitely  and  accurately  decided. 

Iago  is  keen,  quick,  self-reliant.  In  executing 
his  plan  to  ruin  Cassio  he  determines  to  be  guided 
by  circumstances.  As  soon  as  he  hears  Othello's 
proclamation,  allowing  full  liberty  of  /easting,  he 
perceives  his  opportunity.  He  knows,  no  one  bet- 
ter, that  Cassio  cannot  drink  without  becoming 
quarrelsome.  He  will  tempt  him  to  drink,  sur- 
round him  with  drunken  men,  and  then  provoke  a 
quarrel.  Poor  Cassio  yields.  He  does  so  against 
his  wish  and  judgment. 

I  '11  do  't  ,  but  it  dislikes  me. 


4io  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Thus  so  soon  after  Othello's  warning,  Cassio  does 
out  sport  discretion.  He  now  retires.  I  ago  is  alone. 
He  soliloquizes,  and  reveals,  in  detail,  his  plan: 

If  I  can  fasten  but  one  cup  upon  him,  seg. 

Cassio  re-enters  with  Montano  and  some  gentlemen. 
He  informs  us  they  have  been  drinking.  That  fact 
is  evident.  When  sober,  Cassio  is  thoughtful,  calm, 
kindly.  Now  he  is  profane,  excited,  foolish,  quar- 
relsome. He  has  become  maudlin  drunk.  He 
makes  his  exit.  No  sooner  has  he  gone  than  Iago, 
metaphorically,  stabs  him  in  the  back.  To  Mon- 
tano he  says  : 

You  see  this  fellow  that  is  gone  before  ; 

He  is  a  soldier  fit  to  stand  by  Caesar 

And  give  direction  :  and  do  but  see  his  vice  ; 


I  fear  the  trust  Othello  puts  him  in, 
On  some  odd  time  of  his  infirmity, 
Will  shake  this  island. 

Roderigo  enters.  Montano  and  Iago  are  con. 
versing.  Iago  perceives  this  is  his  golden  oppor- 
tunity. Quick  as  lightning,  in  an  aside,  he  says  to 
Roderigo: 

How  now,  Roderigo  ! 
I  pray  you,  after  the  lieutenant ;  go. 

Roderigo    obeys.       He   provokes   a   quarrel    with 
Cassio. 

Montano  has  not  heard  what  Iago  has  said  to 
Roderigo.  He  says,  responding  to  Iago's  state- 
ment to  him: 


Othello  41 1 

And  't  is  great  pity  that  the  noble  Moor 
Should  hazard  such  a  place  as  his  own  second 
With  one  of  an  ingraft  infirmity  : 
It  were  an  honest  action  to  say 
So  to  the  Moor. 

Roderigo  now  returns.  He  is  pursued  by  Cassio, 
who  assaults  him.  Othello,  attracted  by  the  noise 
of  the  disturbance,  enters.  Just  as  he  does  so  Mon- 
tano,  who  is  trying  to  restrain  Cassio,  is  wounded  by 
him.     Othello  commands: 

Hold,  for  your  lives  ! 

Iago  reiterates  the  command.  Othello  rebukes 
the  fighters;  then  turning  to  Iago,  who  assumes  the 
mien  of  deepest  sadness  and  regret,  asks  him  the 
cause  of  the  quarrel.  Iago  gives  an  evasive  reply. 
Othello  then  asks  Cassio  for  an  explanation.  Cas- 
sio, who  has  been  sobered  by  the  sad  termination  of 
his  assault  on  Montano,  says  penitently: 

I  pray  you,  pardon  me  ;  I  cannot  speak. 

His  shame  and  grief  seal  his  lips.  Othello  then  in- 
quires of  Montano.  He  pleads  his  wound,  and 
refers  Othello  to  Iago.  Othello  is  angered.  He 
demands  peremptorily: 

Iago,  who  began  't? 

Iago  again  manifests  his  diabolic  craft.  Under 
pretence  of  loving  Cassio  and  wishing  to  save  him, 
he  stabs  him  in  a  vital  part. 

Touch  me  not  so  near  :  seq. 


4i2  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Othello   accepts  Iago's  statements  implicitly,  and 
replies : 

I  know,  Iago, 
Thy  honesty  and  love  doth  mince  this  matter, 
Making  it  light  to  Cassio.     Cassio,  I  love  thee ; 
But  never  more  be  officer  of  mine. 

Desdemona  enters.  The  quarrel  has  been  so 
violent  that  even  the  ladies  in  the  castle  have  been 
disturbed.  To  make  this  manifest,  and  also  to 
make  Cassio's  discomfiture  more  complete,  is  the 
dramatic  purpose  of  her  entrance. 

Othello,  having  gently  but  firmly  cashiered  Cassio, 
now  orders  Montano  led  off,  and  promises  himself 
to  be  the  surgeon  to  his  hurts.  Othello  then  retires 
with  Desdemona. 

The  first  part  of  Iago's  fiendish  plot,  to  get  Cassio  s 
place,  to 

.     .     .     have  our  Michael  Cassio  on  the  hip, 

has  been  successfully  accomplished.     His  hope  and 
prediction  have  been  realized : 

If  consequence  do  but  approve  my  dream, 

My  boat  sails  freely,  both  with  wind  and  stream. 

It  has  done  so.     Cassio  is  ruined.     Iago  has  his 
lieutenancy. 

The  remainder  of  the  Act,  and  of  this  division  of 
the  drama,  is  principally  episodic.  It  consists  of 
two  conversations;  one  between  Iago  and  Cassio, 
one  between  Iago  and  Roderigo.  Each  of  these 
conversations  is  succeeded  by  a  soliloquy  of  Iago. 


Othello  4U 

The  former,  that  between  Iago  and  Cassio,  is  a 
model  of  what  dialogue  in  a  drama  should  be.  In 
it  the  characters  of  the  speakers  are  perfectly  re- 
vealed. 

Iago.     What,  are  you  hurt,  lieutenant?  seq. 

Cassio  is  ruined.  Iago  having  accomplished  that, 
which  constitutes  the  first  part  of  his  satanic  plot, 
now  devotes  his  attention  to  the  second  part,  viz., 
the  ruin  of  Othello  and  Desdemona.  He  proposes 
to  use  Cassio  as  the  means  by  which  he  shall  effect 
that. 

The  plan  by  which  he  hoped  to  ruin  Othello,  and 
which  he  had  outlined  before  the  action  began,  was: 

After  some  time,  to  abuse  Othello's  ear 
That  he  [Cassio]  is  too  familiar  with  his  wife. 

And  as  he  again  describes  it  after  the  action  has 
begun: 

.     .     .     that  I  put  the  Moor 
At  least  into  a  jealousy  so  strong 
That  judgement  cannot  cure. 

He  now  begins  to  execute  this  plan.  His  effective 
instrument  is  the  very  man  whom  he  has  ruined. 
He  says  to  Cassio: 

I  '11  tell  you  what  you  shall  do.  Our  general's  wife  is 
now  the  general :  .  .  .  confess  yourself  freely  to 
her  ;  importune  her  help  to  put  you  in  your  place  again. 

Cassio  consents  and  retires.     Iago  then  soliloquizes. 

The   reader   must    have    noted    how    frequently 

in  this  play,  more  so  than  in  most  of   his   plays, 


4*4  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Shakespeare  uses  the  soliloquy.  Macbeth,  Richard 
III.,  were  both  villains,  murderers.  Both  reached 
the  thrones  they  occupied  by  wading  through  blood. 
In  this  respect  they  are  like  Iago.  Yet,  in  their 
case;,,  Shakespeare  uses  but  few  soliloquies,  and 
these  very  brief,  while  Iago  constantly,  and,  in 
externa,  soliloquizes.  Why  this  difference  ?  Be- 
cause between  Macbeth  and  PJchard  III.  on  the 
one  hand,  and  Iago  on  the  other,  there  is  a  radical 
difference.  They  accomplished  their  ends  by  means 
that  were  mostly  open,  undisguised,  straightfor- 
ward. Iago  works  not  openly,  but,  like  the  mole, 
almost  wholly  underground,  secretly.  He  trusts  to 
deception  to  accomplish  his  purpose.  He  had  dis- 
tinctly announced  that  in  the  opening  Scene  of  the 
play. 

For  when  my  outward  action  doth  demonstrate 
The  native  act  and  figure  of  my  heart 
In  compliment  extern,  't  is  not  long  after 
But  I  will  wear  my  heart  upon  my  sleeve 
For  daws  to  peck  at  :   I  am  not  what  I  am. 

It  is  an  indispensable  requisite  of  a  drama,  as  I  have 
before  stated,  that  it  be  self-explanatory.  Shake- 
speare, therefore,  must  inform  the  spectator  of 
Iago's  motives,  methods.  This  he  does  by  means 
of  Iago's  soliloquies.  Had  he  not  done  so  the 
spectator  would  have  been  as  much  deceived  by 
Iago's  professed  purity  and  goodness  of  motive  and 
apparent  kindness  of  deed  as  were  Cassio,  Othello, 
and  Desdemona. 

Iago  begins  the  soliloquy  which  follows  Cassio's 


Othello  415 

exit  by  saying  the  advice  he  gives  is probal  to  think- 
ing, i.  e.t  it  will  on  reflection  seem  to  be  probable. 
He  reasons  with  himself  that  his  advice  to  Cassio  is 
the  best  for  Cassio.  While  Iago  is  a  hypocrite,  he 
does  not  deliberately  attempt  to  deceive  himself. 
In  the  latter  part  of  this  soliloquy  he  frankly  con- 
fesses his  diabolical  plot  to  ruin,  not  only  Othello, 
but  also  the  innocent  and  lovely  Desdemona: 

And  what  's  he  then  that  says  I  play  the  villain  ?  seq. 

In  this  soliloquy  Shakespeare  reveals  to  us  the 
second  part  of  the  action,  which  culminates  in  the 
Climax. 

While  Iago  is  still  speaking  to  himself  Roderigo 
enters.  He  is  disgusted  with  his  part  in  the  con- 
spiracy to  ruin  Cassio  and  Desdemona.  His  money 
is  spent;  he  has  been  cudgelled.  Iago  at  first  coun- 
sels patience;  later,  he  cavalierly  dismisses  him. 

By  the  mass,  't  is  morning  ; 

Retire  thee  ;  go  where  thou  art  billeted  : 
Away,  I  say  ;  thou  shalt  know  more  hereafter : 
Nay,  get  thee  gone. 

There  is  a  radical  change  in  Iago's  words  and 
attitude  towards  Roderigo.  Why  ?  Roderigo  was 
the  tool  he  used  to  ruin  Cassio.  That  ruin  having 
been  effected,  Iago  arrogantly,  in  fact  insultingly, 
dismisses  Roderigo.  Having  done  so,  Iago  devotes 
all  his  energies  to  compassing  the  ruin  of  Othello 
and  Desdemona.  In  a  very  few  words,  uttered  in 
soliloquy,  he  unfolds  his  plan: 


416  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Two  things  are  to  be  done  : 
My  wife  must  move  for  Cassio  to  her  mistress  ; 
I  '11  set  her  on  ; 

Myself  the  while  to  draw  the  Moor  apart, 
And  bring  him  jump  when  he  may  Cassio  find 
Soliciting  his  wife  :  ay,  that  *s  the  way  : 
Dull  not  device  by  coldness  and  delay. 

When  Iago  begins  to  execute  this  plan  the  Climax, 
or  third  division,  of  the  drama  commences. 

CLIMAX 

III 

A  tragedy  can  be  constructed  in  either  one  of  two 
ways.  By  one  method  a  drama  portrays  a  deed 
and  its  reaction.  The  hero,  by  his  own  inherent 
power,  by  a  powerful  and  perverted  will  manifest- 
ing itself  in  deeds,  causes  the  action  to  move  for- 
ward to  the  Climax,  after  which  a  reaction  ensues, 
and  the  hero  becomes  the  victim,  suffers  the  conse- 
quences of  his  own  conduct.  An  example  of  this 
kind  of  a  tragedy  is  Macbeth.  Macbeth  was  am- 
bitious to  become  king  of  Scotland.  His  ambition 
was  uncontrollable,  murderous.  He  waded  through 
seas  of  blood  to  seize  the  throne.  He  was  success- 
ful. But  even  When  successful,  when  seated  on  the 
throne,  he  said : 

To  be  thus  is  nothing  ; 
But  to  be  safely  thus. 

That  he  never  was.     What  in  \he  Greek  drama  was 
known  as  Nemesis,  in  the  modern  as  Poetic  Justice, 


Othello  417 

from  this  time  forth  controls  Macbeth's  fate.  He 
himself  expresses  it: 

.     .     .     even-handed  justice 
Commends  the  ingredients  of  our  poison'd  chalice 
To  our  own  lips. 

Notwithstanding  Macbeth's  most  persistent  and 
powerful  efforts  to  escape  the  retribution  of  his 
crimes,  propelled  by  a  power  outside  of  himself  he 
moves  forward  slowly,  surely,  with  unvacillating 
step,  to  a  violent  death. 

By  the  other  method  of  constructing  a  drama  the 
hero  in  the  fore  part  of  the  play  is  portrayed  as  being 
passive,  controlled  by  external  influences.  These 
eventually  enkindle  in  him  an  overpowering  passion. 
Under  the  influence  of  this  his  will  becomes  excited, 
masterful.  He  begins  a  course  of  conduct  that  de- 
cides his  fate,  and  leads  to  the  Catastrophe  of  the 
drama.  An  example  of  that  kind  of  construction  is 
the  play  we  are  studying.  During  that  part  of  it 
that  precedes  the  acme  of  the  Climax,  Othello,  the 
hero,  is  passive.  He  is  the  victim  of  Iago's  dupli- 
city, knavery.     By  lago  he  is 

.     .    *.     as  tenderly     ...     led  by  the  nose 
As  asses  are. 

After  the  Climax  has  been  reached  Othello  asserts 
himself.  From  this  time  he  dominates  the  action 
of  the  drama,  and  causes  the  Catastrophe. 

Iago's  work  is  twofold  :  first,  to  overthrow  Cassio ; 
second,  to  ruin  Othello.  The  portrayal  of  the  first 
is  the  subject  of  the  Growth.     The  second  is  the 


4'8  Shakespeare's  Plots 

subject  of  the  Climax.  In  the  Climax  Iago  puts 
Othello 

.     .     .     into  a  jealousy  so  strong 
That  judgement  cannot  cure. 

The  French  critics  say,  "  The  drama  is  prepara- 
tion " ;  f.  e.,  in  a  perfectly  constructed  drama  there 
must  be  constant  and  lucid  foreshadowing.  In  this 
play  Shakespeare  conforms  perfectly  to  this  canon 
of  dramatic  Art.  Iago  in  his  soliloquy  at  the  end  of 
the  Introduction  outlines  his  plans.  After  stating 
he  hates  the  Moor,  and  wishes  to  get  Cassio's  place, 
he  says: 

How,  how  ? — Let 's  see  : — 
After  some  time,  to  abuse  Othello's  ear 
That  he  is  too  familiar  with  his  wife. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  Growth,  after  Cassio  has 
been  cashiered,  Iago  again  soliloquizes,  and  again, 
and  more  in  detail,  reveals  his  plans  for  the  ruin  of 
Othello: 

Two  things  are  to  be  done: 
My  wife  must  move  for  Cassio  to  her  mistress ; 

Myself  the  while  to  draw  the  Moor  apart, 
And  bring  him  jump  when  he  may  Cassio  find 
Soliciting  his  wife. 

In  these  two  soliloquies,  Shakespeare  foreshadows 
clearly  what  is  done  in  the  Climax  of  this  drama. 

Not     immediately,    however,    does    Shakespeare 
make  Iago  begin  his  work.     It  was  a  custom  among 


Othello  4!9 

the  Venetians  to  greet  a  bride  and  groom,  on  the 
morning  after  marriage,  with  music.  Shakespeare 
avails  himself  of  this  usage  to  begin  the  Climax  with 
an  Episode  full  of  music  and  humor.  His  purpose 
in  so  doing  is  to  make  more  impressive  and  more 
tragic  the  ruin  of  Othello.  As  in  Nature  the 
gathering  clouds  and  rolling  thunder  are  more 
sombre  because  of  preceding  sunshine;  as  in  human 
life  disappointment  and  sorrow  are  made  more 
acute  by  the  happiness  which  immediately  precedes 
them  ;  so  in  a  drama,  which  is  a  transcript  of  human 
life,  the  tragic  becomes  more  pathetic  and  impres- 
sive when  preceded  by  the  gay  and  humorous. 
This  is  known  in  Art  as  the  Principle  of  Contrast. 
Of  it  Shakespeare  was  a  master.  His  plays  are  full 
of  brilliant  examples  of  it.  The  humorous  grave- 
yard Scene  in  Hamlet  immediately  precedes  the 
pathetic  funeral  of  Ophelia,  the  tragic  deaths  of  the 
Queen,  King,  Laertes,  Hamlet.  The  Clown  brings 
to  Cleopatra 

.     .     .     the  pretty  worm  of  Nilus 
That  kills  and  pains  not. 

Before  she  puts  it  to  her  breast  he  engages  with  her 
in  a  bantering,  humorous  conversation.  In  like 
manner  Shakespeare  begins  the  Climax  of  this  play, 
which  is  to  the  last  degree  pathetic  and  tragic,  with 
music  and  humor. 

Cassio    and    musicians   enter.      Cassio   instructs 
them  where  to  play.     The  Clown  enters.     He  says; 

Why,  masters,  have  your  instruments  been  in  Naples, 
that  they  speak  i'  the  nose  thus? 


42o  Shakespeare's  Plots 

After  he  good-naturedly  makes  fun  of  them  the 
musicians  retire.  In  the  same  spirit  he  addresses 
Cassio.  Cassio's  distress,  however,  is  too  acute, 
his  eagerness  to  retrieve  himself  is  too  great,  to  pro- 
long  the  conversation. 

The  dramatic  purpose  for  which  Shakespeare  has 
introduced  this  merriment  having  been  accom- 
plished, the  action  of  the  drama  resumes  movement. 
Cassio  sends  the  Clown  to  Emilia: 

If  the  gentlewoman  that  attends  the  general's  wife  be 
stirring,  tell  her  there  's  one  Cassio  entreats  her  a  little 
favour  of  speech  :  wilt  thou  do  this? 

No  sooner  has  the  Clown  gone  on  this  mission  than 
Iago  enters.  Cassio  informs  him  what  he  has  done. 
Iago  promises  to  aid  him,  and  retires.  Cassio  ex- 
presses his  unquestioning  confidence  in  him: 

I  never  knew 
A  Florentine  more  kind  and  honest. 

Shakespeare  again,  as  frequently,  makes  the 
characters  in  the  play  express  unbounded  confi- 
dence in  Iago.  We  know  he  is  a  villain.  How  ? 
Surely  not  from  his  actions.  To  those  by  whom 
he  is  surrounded  those  actions  are  apparently 
good  and  kindly,  and  prompted  by  the  best  of  mo- 
tives. Our  knowledge  of  his  villainy  is  derived  not 
so  much  from  his  conduct,  as  from  his  soliloquies, 
which  reveal  the  diabolic  motives  that  prompt  him, 
the  ruin  which  he  purposes.  This  fact  must  con- 
stantly be  borne  in  mind  in  studying  the  play. 

Emilia  has  received  Cassio's  message.  She  enters, 
and  says: 


Othello  421 

Good  morrow,  good  lieutenant :   I  am  sorry 

For  your  displeasure  ;  but  all  will  sure  be  well:  seq. 

Cassio  beseeches  Emilia  to  secure  for  him  an  inter- 
view with  Desdemona.  She  promises  so  to  do,  and 
takes  him  with  her  into  the  castle,  where  he  would 
be  likely  to  see  Desdemona.  So  ends  the  first 
Scene  of  the  Climax. 

The  second  Scene  is  simply  an  Episode.  Othello 
sends  letters  to  the  senate  of  Venice,  and  then  he, 
Iago,  and  Gentlemen,  walk  on  the  fortifications  of 
Cyprus,  and  inspect  them. 

The  first  Scene  had  ended  with  Emilia's  promise 
to  Cassio  to  secure  for  him  an  interview  with  Des- 
demona. The  third  Scene  opens  with  a  description 
of  that  interview.  In  reply  to  Cassio's  pleadings 
Desdemona  says: 

You  do  love  my  lord  : 
You  have  known  him  long  ;  and  be  you  well  assured 
He  shall  in  strangeness  stand  no  further  off 
Than  in  a  politic  distance. 

As  Cassio  retires,  Othello  and  Iago  enter.  They 
both  see  him.  Iago  has  successfully  accomplished 
part  of  his  plan,  viz., 

And  bring  [Othello]  jump  when  he  may  Cassio  find 
Soliciting  his  wife. 

He  immediately  improves  his  opportunity.  He 
insinuates,  apparently  in  the  most  guileless,  really 
in  the  most  crafty  manner,  his  suspicions  that  Cassio 

is  too  familiar  with  his  [Othello's]  wife. 


422  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Desdemona,  innocent,  frank,  immediately  begins  to 
plead  for  Cassio. 

How  now,  my  lord  ! 
I  have  been  talking  with  a  suitor  here, 
A  man  that  languishes  in  your  displeasure. 

Othello  hesitates,  Desdemona  urges: 

When  shall  he  come? 
Tell  me,  Othello  :  I  wonder  in  my  soul, 
What  you  would  ask  me,  that  I  should  deny, 
Or  stand  so  mammering  on.     What  !  Michael  Cassio, 
That  came  a-wooing  with  you,  and  so  many  a  time, 
When  I  have  spoke  of  you  dispraisingly, 
Hath  ta'en  your  part  ;  to  have  so  much  to  do 
To  bring  him  in  ! 

Desdemona's  appeal  is  beautiful,  touching.  Cassio 
erred  not  through  cunning,  but  good-natured  weak- 
ness; he  is  humbled,  penitent;  he  was  your  friend 
when  you  wooed  me,  he  pleaded  for  you.  Othello 
yields.  He  requests  Desdemona  to  withdraw.  She 
and  Emilia  do  so. 

Iago's  insinuations,  Desdemona's  pleading  for 
Cassio,  are  two  influences  which,  in  Othello's  dis- 
turbed and  suspicious  frame  of  mind,  are  to  the  last 
degree  unsettling.  In  a  brief  soliloquy  Othello  de- 
scribes the  change  taking  place  in  his  feelings 
towards  Desdemona. 

Excellent  wretch  !  '  Perdition  catch  my  soul, 
But  I  do  love  thee  !  and  when  I  love  thee  not, 
Chaos  is  come  again. 

1  Wretch:  In  Elizabethan  English  this  word  was  sometimes,  as 
here,  used  as  a  term  of  endearment,  tenderness. 


Othello  423 

Iago  now  most  insidiously  inquires  of  Othello: 

Did  Michael  Cassio,  when  you  woo'd  my  lady, 
Know  of  your  love  ? 

This  further  unsettles  Othello.  He  becomes  almost 
frantic.  He  insists  on  Iago's  speaking  fully  and 
frankly.  The  more  Othello  becomes  excited  and 
insists,  the  more  Iago  craftily  conceals  his  duplicity 
by  assuming  the  character  of  a  good  man,  a  sincere 
friend.  He  is  afraid  to  state  in  words  his  suspicions 
of  Cassio  because  it  is  dangerous  and  wicked  to  trifle 
with  any  man's  good  name. 

Good  name  in  man  and  woman,  dear  my  lord, 
Is  the  immediate  jewel  of  their  souls  : 
Who  steals  my  purse  steals  trash  ;  't  is  something,  noth- 
ing ; 
'T  was  mine,  't  is  his,  and  has  been  slave  to  thousands  ; 
Hut  he  that  filches  from  me  my  good  name 
Robs  me  of  that  which  not  enriches  him 
And  makes  me  poor  indeed. 

In  all  the  play  there  is  no  greater  proof  of  Iago's 
thoroughly  perverted,  irredeemably  wicked  nature, 
than  this  apostrophe  to  a  good  name.  It  is  a  con- 
firmation of  what  Antonio,  speaking  of  Shylock, 
says  to  Bassanio : 

An  evil  soul,  producing  holy  witness, 
Is  like  a  villain  with  a  smiling  cheek, 
A  goodly  apple  rotten  at  the  heart. 

When  Othello  becomes  still  more  urgent  to  know 
Iago's  thoughts  Iago  fiendishly  cautions  him  against 
jealousy : 


424  Shakespeare's  Plots 

O,  beware,  my  lord,  of  jealousy  ; 

It  is  the  green-eyed  monster  which  doth  mock 

The  meat  it  feeds  on  :  that  cuckold  lives  in  bliss 

Who,  certain  of  his  fate,  loves  not  his  wronger  ; 

But  O,  what  damned  minutes  tells  he  o'er 

Who  dotes,  yet  doubts,  suspects,  yet  strongly  loves ! 

This  accurately  describes  the  condition  into  which 
Othello  is  rapidly  passing;  he 

.     .     .     dotes,  yet  doubts,  suspects,  yet  strongly  loves  ! 

and,  as  a  consequence, 

.     .     .     O,  what  damned  minutes  tells  he  o'er. 

Othello,  as  Iago  at  the  very  beginning  of  the  play 
has  informed  us,  is  of  a  free  and  open  nature,  is 
naturally  unsuspicious,  confiding;  also,  he  is  a  man 
not  of  thought  but  of  action.  He  is  now  on  the 
brink  of  ruin.  Before  taking  the  final  plunge  he 
draws  back.  There  is  a  reaction  in  his  feelings. 
He  says  to  Iago: 

Why,  why  is  this?  seq. 

Othello's  suspicions  become  so  strong  that  they 
begin  to  take  the  form  of  action. 

.     .     .     to  be  once  in  doubt 
Is  once  to  be  resolved. 

Iago  now  further  intensifies  Othello's  suspicions  by 
using  an  unanswerable  argument,  vis.,  Desdemona 
in  the  past  has  been  deceitful: 

She  did  deceive  her  father,  marrying  you. 


Othello  425 

Before  the  action  began  Brabantio  had  warned 
Othello: 

Look  to  her,  Moor,  if  thou  hast  eyes  to  see  : 
She  has  deceived  her  father,  and  may  thee. 

Iago  adds,  she  deceived  not  only  her  father  but  also 
you : 

And  when  she  seem'd  to  shake  and  fear  your  looks, 
She  loved  them  most. 

These  references  by  Iago  to  Desdemona's  deception 
of  her  father  and  husband  produce  a  profound  effect 
on  Othello.  Although  he  denies  it  his  spirits  are  a 
little  das/i'd,  he  is  mov  d.  Iago  refers  to  it.  Othello 
faintly  denies  it.  The  poison  has  penetrated 
Othello's  vitals.  Iago  perceives  this,  and  retires. 
Othello,  who  is  left  alone,  soliloquizes: 

Why  did  I  marry  ?  scq. 

Iago  suddenly  returns,  ostensibly  for  the  purpose 
of  warning  Othello  not  to  be  hasty,  either  in  form- 
ing a  judgment,  or  taking  action,  but  really  for  the 
purpose  of  still  further  intensifying  Othello's  sus- 
picions.  Having  done  so  Iago  again  retires. 
Othello  is  completely  deceived. 

This  fellow  's  of  exceeding  honesty, 

And  knows  all  qualities,  with  a  learned  spirit, 

Of  human  dealings.     .     .     . 

.     .     .     I  am  abused  ;  and  my  relief 
Must  be  to  loathe  her.     .     .     . 

...     I  had  rather  be  a  toad, 


426  Shakespeare's  Plots 

And  live  upon  the  vapour  of  a  dungeon, 
Than  keep  a  corner  in  the  thing  I  love 
For  others'  uses. 

Desdemona  and  Emilia  enter.  Desdemona  is  loyal 
and  innocent.  Her  passions  are  made  of  nothing  but 
the  finest  parts  of  pure  love.  When  Othello  now 
sees  her  his  love  triumphs  over  his  suspicions: 

If  she  be  false,  O,  then  heaven  mocks  itself ! 
I  '11  not  believe  't. 

Shakespeare  causes  the  change  that  is  being 
wrought  in  Othello's  feelings  to  take  place  gradu- 
ally. Like  the  rising  tide  of  the  ocean,  the  waves 
of  which  advance,  recede,  then  advance  again  still 
higher,  so  Othello's  suspicions  are  excited,  then 
allayed  as  his  old  love  for  Desdemona  re-asserts 
itself,  yet  all  the  while  that  love  is  growing  fainter, 
those  suspicions  stronger,  and  more  harrowing. 
Shakespeare's  technique  in  this  is  very  artistic, 
powerfully  dramatic. 

Othello  conceals  from  Desdemona  his  suspicions 
and  his  anguish,  by  pleading  a  pain  in  his  forehead. 
She  attempts  to  bind  his  forehead  with  her  handker- 
chief. Othello  pushes  the  handkerchief  from  him. 
It  falls.  They  then  retire.  Desdemona  in  her  per- 
plexity and  distress  does  not  notice  she  has  dropped 
the  handkerchief.  Emilia  who  saw  her  drop  it, 
picks  it  up.  She  gives  it  to  Iago.  She  has  mis- 
givings.    She  asks: 

What  will  you  do  with  *t,  that  you  have  been  so  earnest 
To  have  me  filch  it  ? 


Othello  427 

Iago  snatches  it.     Emilia  pleads  with  him  to  return 
it: 

Jf  it  be  not  for  some  purpose  of  import, 
Give  't  me  again  :  poor  lady,  she  '11  run  mad 
When  she  shall  lack  it. 

Iago  orders  her  to  say  nothing  about  it,  and  then  to 
go,   leave  vie.     Emilia  thus  has  unwittingly  aided 
her  husband  to  ruin  Othello  and  Desdemona. 
As  soon  as  he  is  alone  Iago  soliloquizes: 

I  will  in  Cassio's  lodging  lose  this  napkin, 
And  let  him  find  it,  scq, 

Othello   enters.     Iago   gloats   over   his    ruin,    and 
says: 

Not  poppy,  nor  mandragora, 
Nor  all  the  drowsy  syrups  of  the  world, 
Shall  ever  medicine  thee  to  that  sweet  sleep 
Which  thou  owedst  yesterday. 

Othello  is  now  completely  under  the  control  of 
his  suspicions.  His  love  for  Desdemona  gives  way 
to  despair,  grief,  rage.     He  commands  Iago: 

Avaunt !  be  gone  !  thou  hast  set  me  on  the  rack  : 
I  swear  't  is  better  to  be  much  abused 
Than  but  to  know  't  a  little. 

His  love  for  Desdemona  having  died,  life  has  no 
further  attraction  for  Othello.  In  a  few  verses, 
which  are  one  of  the  finest  examples  of  Pathos  in  all 
literature,  he  expresses  his  farewell  to  everything 
which  has  made  life  attractive,  joyous: 


428  Shakespeare's  Plots 

O,  now,  for  ever 
Farewell  the  tranquil  mind  !  farewell  content ! 
Farewell  the  plumed  troop,  and  the  big  wars, 
That  make  ambition  virtue  !  seq. 

Othello's  heart  is  broken. 

The  night  has  a  thousand  eyes, 

And  the  day  but  one  ; 
Yet  the  light  of  the  bright  world  dies, 

With  the  dying  sun. 

The  mind  has  a  thousand  eyes, 

And  the.  heart  but  one  ; 
Yet  the  light  of  a  whole  life  dies, 

When  love  is  done.1 

Then  follows  a  reaction.  As  he  questions  the  cor- 
rectness of  Iago's  intimations,  Othello's  grief  gives 
way  to  desperation: 

Villain,  be  sure  thou  prove  my  love  a  whore, 
He  sure  of  it  ;  give  me  the  ocular  proof ; 
Or,  by  the  worth  of  man's  eternal  soul, 
Thou  hadst  been  better  have  been  born  a  dog 
Than  answer  my  waked  wrath  ! 

Shakespeare's  portrayal  of  these  conflicting  cur- 
rents of  emotion  in  Othello  manifests  profound 
knowledge  of  the  human  heart,  and  masterly  dra- 
matic technique.  Doubt,  then  wrath,  hate,  grief, 
fury,  alternating  with  love,  each  feeling  developed 
to  the  highest  degree,  like  great  waves  of  the  ocean, 
one  after  another  roll  over,  and  finally  submerge 
Othello's  soul. 

Iago's  influence  over  Othello  again  asserts  itself: 

1  Bourdillon. 


Othello  429 

By  the  world, 
I  think  my  wife  be  honest  and  think  she  is  not  ; 
I  think  that  thou  art  just  and  think  thou  art  not:  seq. 

Iago  then  tells  Othello  what,  he  falsely  asserts, 
Cassio  said  in  a  dream: 

In  sleep  I  heard  him  say  "  Sweet  Desdemona, 
Let  us  be  wary,  let  us  hide  our  loves  ; "  seq. 

Othello  is  now  finally  and  completely  convinced  of 
Desdemona's  unfaithfulness.  He  is  almost  insane 
with  grief  and  rage : 

O  monstrous  !  monstrous ! 

I  '11  tear  her  all  to  pieces. 

Iago  further  informs  him  of  the  handkerchief  which 
Desdemona  had  lost,  and  which  was  now  in  Cassio's 
possession.  Othello's  desire  for  revenge  becomes 
more  capacious: 

O,  that  the  slave  had  forty  thousand  lives  ! 
One  is  too  poor,  too  weak  for  my  revenge. 

He  kneels  and  swears  revenge.  Iago  follows  his 
example.  Othello  immediately  puts  Iago's  loyalty 
to  a  test : 

Within  these  three  days  let  me  hear  thee  say 
That  Cassio  's  not  alive. 

Iago  accepts  the  test : 

My  friend  is  dead  ;  't  is  done  at  your  request 

He  pleads  for  Desdemona: 


43°  Shakespeare's  Plots 

But  let  her  live. 

The  effect  is,  as  he  hoped  and  intended,  to  develop 
Othello's  desire  for  revenge  to  the  intensest  degree. 
It  crystallizes  into  action: 

Damn  her,  lewd  minx  !     O,  damn  her  ! 
Come,  go  with  me  apart  ;  I  will  withdraw, 
To  furnish  me  with  some  swift  means  of  death 
For  the  fair  devil. 

This  decision  marks  the  crisis  in  the  soul  of  Othello. 
Shakespeare  has  placed  him  under  the  control  of  an 
overpowering  emotion.  While  in  that  condition  he 
makes  the  decision  that  settles  his  fate.  This  is  the 
acme  of  the  Climax,  the  crest  of  the  dramatic  arch. 
All  previous  to  this  is  the  desis%  all  subsequent  the 
lusis.  It  is  the  meeting-point  of  all  the  Complica- 
ting and  Resolving  forces. 

Love  for  Desdemona  dominated  Othello  at  the 
beginning  of  the  drama.  That  love  has  been  en- 
tirely supplanted  by  hate,  hate  such  as  only  a  noble 
and  outraged  nature  could  feel.     In  such  a  case 

passion  seeks  aid  from  its  opposite  passion.1 

Love  and  hate,  while  antagonistic  feelings,  lie  very 
near  to  each  other.  In  fact,  as  Browning  expresses 
it,  they  are 

.     .     .     the  very  warders 
Each  of  the  other's  borders.* 

That  hate  which  has  supplanted  love  controls 
Othello  from  this  time. 

1  Browning,  Pippa  Passes,  Scene  2.  •  Idem. 


Othello  431 

Previous  to  this  Iago  has  been  the  dominating 
force  in  the  drama.  All  his  plans  have  been  suc- 
cessfully consummated.  After  this  Othello's  will 
asserts  itself.  From  this  fime  he  controls  and  domi- 
nates the  action. 

Following  this  Scene,  in  which  the  thoughts  and 
emotions  of  the  spectator  have  been  strained  to  the 
intensest  degree,  there  must  be  a  period  of  repose. 
Shakespeare,  therefore,  at  the  beginning  of  the  last 
Scene  of  the  Climax,  introduces  a  humorous  conver- 
sation between  Desdemona  and  the  Clown.  It  is  a 
perfect  example  of  what  Charles  Lamb  calls  "  the 
relaxing  levities  of  tragedy";  of  the  nature  and 
function  of  a  humorous  Episode  in  a  great  tragedy. 
Desdemona  asks  the  Clown: 

Do  you  know,  sirrah,  where  Lieutenant  Cassio  lies  ?  seq. 

This  Episode  brings  mental  and  emotional  rest  and 
relief  to  the  spectator. 

As  soon  as  the  Clown  retires  Desdemona  perceives 
the  loss  of  the  handkerchief.  The  tragic  at  once  re- 
sumes sway.  She  is  distressed,  full  of  foreboding. 
She  asks  Emilia: 

Where  should  I  lose  that  handkerchief? 

Believe  me,  I  had  rather  have  lost  my  purse 
Full  of  crusadoes  :  and,  but  my  noble  Moor 
Is  true  of  mind  and  made  of  no  such  baseness 
As  jealous  creatures  are,  it  were  enough 
To  put  him  to  ill  thinking. 

In  view  of  the  real  state  of  Othello's  feelings  how 
pathetic  is  the  guilelessness  of  Desdemona  ?     This 


432  Shakespeare's  Plots 

pathos  is  intensified  by  the  conversation  that  im- 
mediately ensues  between  Othello,  who  now  enters, 
and  Desdemona.  Childlike,  innocent,  delicately 
obedient  to  the  lightest  Vhisper  of  honor,  Desde- 
mona entirely  misunderstands  Othello's  insinua- 
tions: 

How  is  't  with  you,  my  lord  ?  seq. 

Desdemona,  still  blind  to  Othello's  jealousy,  pleads 
for  Cassio.     Othello  stops  her  by  saying: 

I  have  a  salt  and  sorry  rheum  offends  me  ; 
Lend  me  thy  handkerchief. 

He  describes  the  handkerchief,  its  great  value,  and 
power  to  charm.  Desdemona  finally  has  to  acknowl- 
edge she  has  lost  it.  Othello  departs.  He  believes 
Iago's  statement  that  Cassio  has  the  handkerchief, 
and  that  Desdemona  has  given  it  to  him. 

The  action  of  the  drama  now  temporarily  ceases 
movement.  The  Climax  ends  with  two  Episodes. 
Othello  has  retired.  Desdemona  and  Emilia  re- 
main.    To  them  Cassio  and  Iago  enter. 

Cassio  renews  his  suit  to  Desdemona.  She  pa- 
thetically replies: 

Alas,  thrice-gentle  Cassio  ! 
My  advocation  is  not  now  in  tune  ; 
My  lord  is  not  my  lord  ;  nor  should  I  know  him, 
Were  he  in  favour  as  in  humour  alter'd  :  seq. 

Iago,  the  arch-hypocrite,  blandly  inquires: 

Is  my  lord  angry  ? 


Othello  433 

and  then  goes  to  seek  Othello.  Desdemona  is  still 
unsuspicious.  She  thinks,  and  so  says  to  Emilia, 
Othello's  rage  must  be  caused  by 

Something,  sure,  of  state, 
Either  from  Venice,  or  some  unhatch'd  practice 
Made  demonstrate  here  in  Cyprus  to  him, 
Hath  puddled  his  clear  spirit. 

Emilia  has  divined  the  true  cause: 

Pray  heaven  it  be  state-matters,  as  you  think, 
And  no  conception  nor  no  jealous  toy 
Concerning  you. 

Desdemona  and  Emilia  retire.  Cassio  is  left  alone. 
This  is  one  Episode. 

Desdemona  and  Emilia  have  hardly  disappeared 
when  Bianca  enters.  She  is  Cassio's  mistress.  The 
second  of  the  two  Episodes,  with  which  the  Climax 
ends,  is  a  conversation  between  her  and  Cassio.  She 
chides  Cassio  with  slighting  her.  He  gives  her 
Desdemona's  handkerchief.     She  says: 

O  Cassio,  whence  came  this  ? 
This  is  some  token  from  a  newer  friend: 
To  the  felt  absence  now  I  feel  a  cause : 
s  *t  come  to  this  ?    Well,  well. 

Cassio  assures  her  her  suspicions  are  unfounded. 
He  begs  her  to  retire  as 

I  do  attend  here  on  the  general. 

They  both  make  their  exit,  and  the  Climax  ends. 

•8 


434  Shakespeare's  Plots 

In  a  drama  the  minor  characters,  those  by  whom 
the  Sub-Actions  are  carried  forward,  reflect  the  prin- 
cipal characters,  those  in  the  Main  Action.  The 
emotions  and  thoughts  which  dominate  the  iatter 
more  or  less  dominate  the  former.  Desdemona  de- 
ceives her  father  and  husband.  Emilia  deceives  her 
about  the  handkerchief,  telling  her  she  knew  not 
where  it  had  been  dropped.  Iago,  Othello,  are 
jealous,  suspicious;  so  are  Roderigo,  Bianca. 

Iago's  cruel,  fiendish  plot  to  compass  the  ruin  of 
Othello  and  Desdemona  has  been  successful: 

.     .     .     for  whiles  this  honest  fool 
Plies  Desdemona  to  repair  his  fortunes 
•    And  she  for  him  pleads  strongly  to  the  Moor, 
I'll  pour  this  pestilence  into  his  ear, 
That  she  repeals  him  for  her  body's  lust ; 
And  by  how  much  she  strives  to  do  him  good, 
She  shall  undo  her  credit  with  the  Moor. 
So  will  I  turn  her  virtue  into  pitch, 
And  out  of  her  own  goodness  make  the  net 
That  shall  enmesh  them  all. 

This  net  has  been  craftily  and  strongly  woven  by 
Iago.  Desdemona  and  Othello  are  securely  and 
fatally  enmeshed  in  it. 

FALL 

IV 

When,  at  the  close  of  the  Climax,  Othello  was 
fully  and  finally  convinced  of  Cassio's  disloyalty,  of 
Desdemona's  unfaithfulness,  he  commanded  Iago  to 


Othello     '  435 

kill  Cassio.  Iago  accepted  the  mission.  The  execu- 
tion of  what  he  believed  to  be  justice  on  Desde- 
mona  Othello  reserved  to  himself. 

The  Fall  of  a  drama  is  more  or  less,  sometimes 
entirely,  episodic.  During  the  Fall  of  this  play  the 
Main  Action  is  entirely  suspended.  It  is  devoted 
not  to  killing  Cassio  and  Desdemona,  but  simply  to 
making  all  preparations  therefor. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  Climax  Iago  had  left 
Desdemona,  Emilia,  Cassio,  and  had  gone  to  seek 
Othello.  He  finds  him.  They  engage  in  conversa- 
tion on  the  subject  which  is  uppermost  in  the  minds 
of  both.  The  Fall  begins  with  a  report  of  this 
conversation : 

Iago.     Will  you  think  so  ?  seq. 

After  referring  to  a  kiss,  which  is  the  refrain  of  Cas- 
sio's  dream  as  described  by  Iago  to  Othello  in  III., 
3,  Iago  mentions  the  handkerchief.  It  profoundly 
stirs  Othello: 

O,  it  comes  o'er  my  memory, 
As  doth  the  raven  o'er  the  infected  house, 
Boding  to  all — 

This  is  poetic,  ominous.  Before  the  murder  of  Dun- 
can Lady  Macbeth  said : 

The  raven  himself  is  hoarse 
That  croaks  the  fatal  entrance  of  Duncan 
Under  my  battlements. 

No  less  fatal  is  Iago's  iterated  and  reiterated  allu- 
sion to  the  handkerchief.  It  foreshadows  Desde- 
mona's  death.     The  immediate  effect  on  Othello  is 


436  Shakespeare's  Plots 

like  that  of  a  poisonous  mineral  which  doth  gnaw  his 
inwards  ;  of  a  sharp  dagger  with  which  a  wounded 
man  is  pierced  again  and  again. 

Othello's  fury  and  grief  now  find  expression  in 
sentences  that  are  illogical,  disjointed,  fragmentary : 

Handkerchief — confessions — handkerchief  ! — To  con- 
fess, and  be  hanged  for  his  labour  ; — first,  to  be  hanged, 
and  then  to  confess. — I  tremble  at  it.  Nature  would  not 
invest  herself  in  such  shadowing  passion  without  some 
instruction.  It  is  not  words  that  shake  me  thus.  Pish  ! 
Noses,  ears,  and  lips. — Is  't  possible  ? — Confess — hand- 
kerchief ! — O  devil  ! 

When  a  man  is  conversing  on  the  commonplace, 
practical  affairs  of  life  he  uses  prose.  If  the  subject 
of  the  conversation  be  one  by  which  his  feelings  are 
profoundly  stirred,  his  language  is  impassioned  and 
rhythmical.  In  the  former  case  the  intellect  alone 
is  exercised;  in  the  latter  the  emotions  as  well  as 
the  intellect  are  in  action.  They  find  expression  in 
words  and  sentences  that  pulsate,  that  have  a  heart- 
throb. 

This  is  true  of  literature.'  Shakespeare  conforms 
to  this  law  of  human  expression;  e.  g.>  Corio/anus, 
I.,  3;  Merchant  of  Venice,  I.,  3;  Julius  Ceesar,  III., 
2. 

Sometimes,  however,  human  feeling,  like  a  raging 
torrent,  overleaps  all  bounds.  Profound  feeling, 
overmastering  emotion,  inciease  the  rhythmical 
flow  of   the    blood,    the    action    of   the   heart.     It 

1  Cf.  Bascom,  The  Philosophy  of  English  Literature,  p.  48  ;  Her- 
bert  Spencer,  The  Philosophy  of  Style,  part  i.,  sec.  iv. 


Othello  437 

chokes,  closes,  or  expands  the  throat.  A  man  then 
expresses  himself  not  in  verse,  but  in  broken,  frag- 
mentary, ejaculatory  prose. 

When  Lear,  who  has  become  insane,  has  a  lucid 
interval  he  meets  Gloucester  (IV.,  6).  His  feelings 
entirely  overcome  him.  He  ceases  to  speak  in 
verse,  and  expresses  himself  in  broken  phrases  that 
are  intensely  impassioned : 

There  's  hell,  there  's  darkness,  there  's  the  sulphurous 
pit.  Burning,  scalding,  stench,  consumption  ;  fie,  fie, 
fie  !  pah,  pah !  Give  me  an  ounce  of  civet,  good 
apothecary,  to  sweeten  my  imagination  :  there  's  money 
for  thee. 

Likewise  in  this  play  Othello's  words  proceed  from 
a  heart  surcharged  with  passion.  He  disregards 
grammar  and  rhetoric,  and  expresses  himself  in 
words  that  are  disconnected,  ejaculatory;  in  sen- 
tences that  are  broken. 

Othello  was  a  brave  man.  He  possessed  a  power- 
ful physique.  The  tension  of  his  feelings  is  so  in- 
tense that  it  causes  a  physical  breakdown.  He  falls 
in  a  trance.     This,  Iago  informs  us, 

.     .     .     is  his  second  fit ;  he  had  one  yesterday. 

While  Othello  is  insensible  Iago,  in  a  monologue, 
reveals  his  thoughts  and  feelings: 

Work  on, 
My  medicine,  work  !     Thus  credulous  fools  are  caught ; 
And  many  worthy  and  chaste  dames  even  thus, 
All  guiltless,  meet  reproach. 


438  Shakespeare's  Plots 

In  these  words  Iago  discloses  what  is  probably  the 
primal  characteristic  of  his  nature,  viz.,  absence  of 
emotion.     He  is  pitiless. 

The  greatest  check  to  wrong-doing  comes  from 
the  emotions,  either  those  of  the  criminal,  or  the 
emotions  of  others  acting  upon  him  and  restraining 
him.  The  most  brutal  and  fearless  murderer  quails 
before  the  mob.  He  cannot  brave  intense  human 
emotion.  The  greatest  crimes  are  committed  only 
when  pity  is  absent. 

Iago  is  devoid  of  feeling.  He  is  pitiless.  His 
moral  nature  is  in  ruins.  With  the  Duke  of  Glouces- 
ter he  could  say : 

I  that  have  neither  pity,  love  nor  fear. 

He  sees  Othello  almost  insane  with  grief,  utterly 
prostrated,  yet  can  remain  unmoved. 

Cassio  enters,  and  quickly  withdraws.  Othello 
recovers  consciousness.  He  does  not  know  Cassio 
has  been  present.     He  immediately  asks: 

Did  he  confess  it? 

Iago  now  informs  Othello  that  Cassio  had  been 
present.  He  begs  Othello  to  retire,  but  to  remain 
within  hearing  distance.  He  promises  to  extort  a 
confession  from  him.  Othello  accedes  to  Iago's  re- 
quest. He  says  solemnly,  fiercely,  as  a  minister  of 
justice: 

Dost  thou  hear,  Iago  ? 
I  will  be  found  most  cunning  in  my  patience  ; 
But — dost  thou  hear  ? — most  bloody. 


Othello  439 

Othello  then  retires.     Iago,  in  a  soliloquy,  reveals 
his  plan. 

Now  will  I  question  Cassio  of  Bianca, 


He,  when  he  hears  of  her,  cannot  refrain 
From  the  excess  of  laughter.     Here  he  comes  : 

[Re  enter  Cassio. 
As  he  shall  smile,  Othello  shall  go  mad. 

Iago's  plan  works  perfectly.  Cassio,  in  all  he  says, 
refers  to  Bianca.  Othello,  whose  jealousy  is  un- 
bookish, i.  e.,  unintelligent,  whose  suspicions  have 
completely  blinded  him,  thinks  Cassio's  references 
are  all  to  Desdemona.  The  effect  on  Othello  is  de- 
scribed by  Shakespeare  in  a  conversation  between 
Othello  and  Iago.  It  is  a  marvellous  piece  of  work ; 
a  masterly  description  of  the  deepest  and  strongest 
feelings  of  a  noble  and  brave  man  when  nearly  in 
sane  with  suspicion  of  her  he  loves.  After  Cassio's 
exit,  Othello,  advancing,  says: 

How  shall  I  murder  him,  Iago?  seq> 

In  all  literature  there  is  no  portrayal  greater  than 
this  of  the  struggle  in  a  good  but  misguided  man 
between  rage  that  is  murderous,  and  grief  that  is 
heart  -  breaking.  As  Othello  remembers  her  he 
trusted  and  loved : 

O,  the  world  hath  not  a  sweeter  creature: 
As  he  thinks  of  her  supposed  unfaithfulness: 

My  heart  is  turned  to  stone  :  I  strike  it,  and  it  hurts 
my  hand. 


44°  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Lodovico,  a  kinsman  of  Brabantio,  now  enters. 
With  him  is  Desdemona.  This  is  his  first  appear- 
ance  in  the  drama.  It  is  a  canon  of  dramatic  art 
that  all  persons  who  play  an  important  part  in  the 
action  of  a  drama  must  be  brought  on  the  stage  in 
the  Introduction,  or  at  the  beginning  of  the  action. 
Lodovico  does  not  appear  till  towards  the  close  of 
the  play.  Why  ?  Because  he  is  not  an  important 
character.  He,  as  also  Gratiano,  who  first  appears 
in  the  last  Act,  is  a  Link-Person. 

Lodovico  bears  a  message  to  Othello  from  the 
Duke  and  Senators  of  Venice: 

.     .     .     they  do  command  him  home, 
Deputing  Cassio  in  his  government. 

Nothing  could  intensify  Othello's  already  over- 
wrought feelings  more  than  that  he  should  be  re- 
called, and  that  the  very  man  who  he  believed 
had  cruelly  wronged  him  should  be  appointed  to 
succeed  him.  He  strikes  Desdemona;  calls  her 
Devil!  and  peremptorily  orders  her, 

Hence,  avaunt ! — 

Lodovico  is  so  surprised  he  says: 

My  lord,  this  would  not  be  believed  in  Venice, 
Though  I  should  swear  I  saw  *t. 

Othello  makes  his  exit.     Lodovico  inquires: 
Are  his  wits  safe  ?  is  he  not  light  of  brain  ? 

He  then  adds: 

I  am  sorry  that  I  am  deceived  in  him. 
So  ends  Scene  I. 


Othello  441 

Scene  2  begins  with  an  interview  between  Othello 
and  Emilia.  He  questions  her  as  to  Desdemona's 
relations  with  Cassio.     Emilia  replies: 

I  durst,  my  lord,  to  wager  she  is  honest, 
Lay  down  my  soul  at  stake  :  scg. 

Othello  distrusts  Emilia  as  well  as  Desdemona.  He 
sends  her  for  her  mistress.  They  return  together. 
Desdemona  says: 

My  lord,  what  is  your  will  ? 

Othello  now  orders  Emilia  to  retire,  and  to  stand 
guard  at  the  door.  He  and  Desdemona  are  left 
alone.     Desdemona  says: 

Upon  my  knees,  what  doth  your  speech  import? 
I  understand  a  fury  in  your  words, 
But  not  the  words. 

Othello's  grief  is  so  acute  it  causes  him  to  weep.  He 
says: 

Had  it  pleased  heaven 
To  try  me  with  affliction  ;  had  they  rain'd  • 
All  kinds  of  sores  and  shames  on  my  bare  head  :  seq. 

The  force  and  velocity  of  the  current  of  a  river  de- 
pend on  its  depth;  so  capacity  for  suffering  mental 
and  emotional  anguish  is  one  of  the  highest  tests  of 
nobility  of  nature. 

Othello  retires.  Just  as  this  distressing  interview 
ends  Emilia  enters.     She  asks: 

Alas,  what  does  this  gentleman  conceive  ? 


44 2  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Desdemona,  conscious  of  her  own  innocence,  is 
dazed.  She  still  loves  Othello.  She  does  not  blame 
him,  but  fortune. 

It  is  my  wretched  fortune. 

Emilia,  who  has  made  her  exit,  now  returns  with 
Iago.  She  takes  a  different,  and  more  practical, 
view  of  the  matter: 

I  will  be  hang'd,  if  some  eternal  villain, 

Some  busy  and  insinuating  rogue,    • 

Some  cogging,  cozening  slave,  to  get  some  office, 

Have  not  devised  this  slander  ;  I  '11  be  hang'd  else  :  seq. 

She  unwittingly,  and  with  the  utmost  accuracy,  de- 
scribes her  husband,  who  is  the  villain. 

Desdemona  and  Emilia  make  their  exit.  Iago  is 
left  alone.  Roderigo  enters.  He  protests  vigor- 
ously against  the  treatment  he  has  received  from 
Iago.  Iago  has  taken  Roderigo's  money  and  jewels, 
ostensibly  for  the  purpose  of  giving  them  to  Desde- 
mona, and  so  winning  her  favor  for  Roderigo.  Iago 
has  kept  them  for  himself.  He  does  not  reply  di- 
rectly to  Roderigo's  charges,  but  informs  him  of 
Othello's  recall,  and  of  the  appointment  of  Cassio 
to  the  chief  command.  He  then  craftily  proposes 
to  Roderigo  that  he  kill  Cassio.  They  depart  to- 
gether, and  this  Scene  ends. 

In  the  last  Scene  of  the  Fall,  Othello,  Lodovico, 
Desdemona,  Emilia,  and  attendants  enter.  After 
a  word  or  two  with  Lodovico,  Othello  commands 
Desdemona: 


Othello  443 

Get  you  to  bed  on  the  instant  ;  I  will  be  returned 
forthwith  :  dismiss  your  attendant  there  :  look  it  be 
done. 

Othello,  Lodovico,  and  attendants  retire.  Desde- 
mona  and  Emilia  are  left  alone,  and  the  remainder 
of  this  Scene,  and  this  division  of  the  drama,  is  de- 
voted to  a  conversation  between  them. 

A  change  has  come  over  Othello.  Emilia  has 
noticed  it.     She  says: 

.     .     .     he  looks  gentler  than  he  did. 

This  is  but  the  lull  before  the  storm.  It  bespeaks 
the  man  whose  mind  is  settled.  The  conflict  in 
Othello  between  doubt  and  certainty,  between 
irresolution  and  resolution,  is  ended.  He  has  ex- 
perienced to  the  intensest  degree  the  truthfulness 
of  Iago's  reflection : 

But,  O,  what  damned  minutes  tells  he  o'er 

Who  dotes,  yet  doubts,  suspects,  yet  strongly  loves ! 

This  now  has  ended.  The  time  for  action  has 
arrived. 

Before  dismissing  Emilia,  as  Othello  had  ordered, 
Desdemona  makes  all  preparations  to  retire.  She 
still  protests  her  love  for  Othello.  When  Emilia 
expresses  the  wish  that  Desdemona  had  never  seen 
him,  she  responds: 

So  would  not  I  :  my  love  doth  so  approve  him, 
That  even  his  stubbornness,  his  checks,  his  frowns, — 
Prithee,  unpin  me, — have  grace  and  favour  in  them. 

In  the  drama,  as  in  human  life,  coming  events 


444  Shakespeare's  Plots 

cast  their  shadows  before.     Desdemona  now  has  a 
presentiment  of  impending  death: 

Good  faith,  how  foolish  are  our  minds  ! 
If  I  do  die  before  thee,  prithee,  shroud  me 
In  one  of  those  same  sheets. 

She  sings  a  song  full  of  tenderness,  pathos,  forebod- 
ing.    She  says  to  Emilia: 

Mine  eyes  do  itch  ; 
Doth  that  bode  weeping  ? 

Having  thus  in  the  most  unmistakable  manner 
foreshadowed  Desdemona's  death  Shakespeare  now 
introduces  a  final  conversation  between  her  and 
Emilia,  on  a  subject  radically  different  from  any 
that  have  preceded.  The  dramatic  purpose  of  this 
conversation  is  to  reveal,  once  more,  Desdemona's 
spotless  purity. 

Desdemona,  who  is  as  chaste  as  tee,  as  pure  as 
snow,  not  only  cannot  be  unfaithful  herself,  but  can- 
not believe  any  woman  could  be  unfaithful.  Emilia, 
who  is  coarse,  vulgar,  dissents  from  this  opinion. 
By  means  of  her,  with  whom  Desdemona  is  con- 
trasted (this  is  one  of  Emilia's  dramatic  functions), 
Shakespeare  reveals  in  brighter  light  the  true 
womanliness,  the  spotless  purity  of  Desdemona. 

So  ends  this  Act,  and  this  division  of  the  drama. 
During  it  the  Main  Action  has  been  temporarily 
stayed.  And  yet  there  has  been  dramatic  progress. 
Every  preparation  has  been  made  for  the  Catastro- 
phe. Othello's  determination  to  kill  Desdemona 
has  been  irrevocably  settled.  What  he  said  in  the 
Climax  is  now,  for  the  first  time,  absolutely  true: 


Othello  445 

Like  to  the  Pontic  sea, 
Whose  icy  current  and  compulsive  course 
Ne'er  feels  retiring  ebb,  but  keeps  due  on 
To  the  Propontic  and  the  Hellespont, 
Even  so  my  bloody  thoughts,  with  violent  pace, 
Shall  ne'er  look  back,  ne'er  ebb  to  humble  love, 
Till  that  a  capable  and  wide  revenge 
Swallow  them  up. 

It  only  needs  a  fitting  opportunity  to  put  that  de- 
termination into  action.  Othello  has  made  that  op- 
portunity. Iago  has  suggested  to  Roderigo  the 
murder  of  Cassio.  Desdemona  has  a  well-defined 
presentiment  of  her  early  and  violent  death. 

CATASTROPHE 

V 

With  the  commencement  of  the  Catastrophe  the 
action  of  the  drama  again,  and  immediately,  begins 
movement,  and  progresses  to  the  end  rapidly  and 
without  cessation. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  Catastrophe  Roderigo 
and  Iago  appear,  prepared  to  execute  the  plot  to 
kill  Cassio.  Before  they  attempt  the  murder,  each, 
by  means  of  a  monologue,  lays  bare  his  heart  and 
mind. 

Roderigo,  at  first,  hesitates.  A  moment  later  he 
determines  to  do  the  deed: 

I  have  no  great  devotion  to  the  deed  ; 

And  yet  he  hath  given  me  satisfying  reasons  : 

'Tis  but  a  man  gone.     Forth,  my  sword  :  he  dies. 


446  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Iago,  who  has  retired  to  a  place  where  he  cannot  be 
seen  or  heard  by  Roderigo,  says : 

I  have  rubb'd  this  young  quat  almost  to  the  sense, 
And  he  grows  angry.     Now,  whether  he  kill  Cassio, 
Or  Cassio  him,  or  each  do  kill  the  other, 
Every  way  makes  my  gain:  seq. 

Iago  now  stands  in  much  peril.  The  beginning  of 
crime  is  like  sliding  down  hill.  Such  a  movement 
generates  momentum.  The  same  law  is  in  force  in 
morals.  The  application  of  this  law  to  dramatic  art 
is  known  in  the  Greek  drama  as  Nemesis,  "  the 
anger  of  fate,  whether  foredoomed  or  avenging." 
In  the  Shakesperian  drama  it  is  Poetic  Justice. 
Iago's  fate  is  an  example.     He  says: 

Live  Roderigo, 
He  calls  me  to  a  restitution  large 
Of  gold  and  jewels  that  I  bobb'd  from  him, 
As  gifts  to  Desdemona  ; 
It  must  not  be:  if  Cassio  do  remain, 
He  hath  a  daily  beauty  in  his  life 
That  makes  me  ugly  ;  and,  besides,  the  Moor 
May  unfold  me  to  him  ;  there  stand  I  in  much  peril: 
No,  he  must  die. 

In  these  two  soliloquies  the  motives  and  purposes 
of  these  two  men  are  once  more,  and  fully,  revealed. 

Immediately  after  they  are  spoken  Cassio  enters. 
Roderigo  assaults  him.  Cassio's  coat  protects  him. 
He  is  not  injured.  Then  he,  in  turn,  attacks  and 
wounds  Roderigo.  Iago,  whom  Cassio  has  not  seen, 
assaults   and   wounds   Cassio,  and    quickly  retires. 


Othello  447 

Othello  enters.  He  hears  the  cries  of  the  wounded 
men.  He  supposes  Iago  has  killed  Cassio,  and 
says: 

The  voice  of  Cassio:   Iago  keeps  his  word. 

.     .     .     O  brave  Iago,  honest  and  just. 

The  calls  for  help  uttered  by  Cassio  and  Roderigo 
have  been  heard  by  Lodovico  and  Gratiano,  who 
now  enter.  A  moment  later,  Iago,  partially 
dressed,  with  light  and  weapons^  re-enters.  Shake- 
speare makes  him  appear  thus  in  order  that  it  may 
seem  that  Iago  has  suddenly  been  aroused  from 
sleep  by  the  cries  for  help.  The  time  has  not  yet 
arrived  for  the  complete  revelation  to  the  others  in 
the  play  of  Iago's  character.  By  this  ruse  Iago  de- 
ceives both  Lodovico  and  Gratiano;  and  Roderigo 
and  Cassio,  as  well. 

Iago  expresses  surprise,  distress,  resentment.  He 
professes  himself  anxious  to  aid  Cassio.  When 
Cassio  accuses  Roderigo,  who  is  lying  near  him 
wounded,  whom  he  does  not  recognize,  as  the  villain 
who  wounded  him,  Iago,  pretending  to  revenge  the 
assault  on  Cassio,  stabs  Roderigo,  saying: 

O  murderous  slave  !     O  villain  ! 

Roderigo  is  mortally  wounded.  Before  dying  he 
recognizes  Iago  as  his  assailant,  and  denounces  his 
treason : 

O  damn'd  Iago  !  .  O  inhuman  dog ! 

Iago  knew  it  was  Roderigo,  and  was  only  too  glad 
to  seal  his  lips  in  death. 


448  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Iago  recognizes  Lodovico.  He  expresses  the 
strongest  desire  to  assist  Cassio.  Bianca  enters.  In 
order  to  divert  suspicion  from  himself  Iago  pro- 
fesses to  believe  she  is  a  party  to  the  assault  on 
Cassio : 

Gentlemen  all,  I  do  suspect  this  trash 
To  be  a  party  to  this  injury. 

Then  turning  to  Roderigo's  corpse,  he  says: 

Know  we  this  face  or  no  ? 
Alas,  my  friend  and  my  dear  countryman 
Roderigo  !  no  :— yes,  sure  :— O  heaven  !     Roderigo. 

To  Cassio  he  says : 

He  that  lies  slain  here,  Cassio, 
Was  my  dear  friend  :  what  malice  was  between  you  ? 

The  diabolic  and  skilful  duplicity  of  Iago  becomes 
more  and  more  apparent.  He  promises  Othello 
that,  out  of  loyalty  to  him,  he  will  murder  Cassio. 
By  appealing  to  the  basest  impulses  of  Roderigo  he 
induces  him  to  attempt  the  murder  of  Cassio. 
When  Cassio,  in  self-defence,  stabs  Roderigo,  Iago 
stabs  Cassio;  and,  later,  when  Cassio  charges  Rod- 
erigo with  being  his  assailant  Iago  kills  Roderigo. 
Then,  when  Roderigo's  corpse,  and  Cassio,  wounded, 
are  borne  away,  he  again  directs  suspicion  towards 
Bianca. 

Emilia  now  enters.  To  her  Iago  makes  the  state- 
ment, not  only  for  her  information,  but  also  to  im- 
press it  upon  Lodovico  and  Gratiano: 


Othello  449 

Cassio  hath  here  been  set  on  in  the  dark 
By  Roderigo  and  fellows  that  are  scaped: 
He  's  almost  slain,  and  Roderigo  dead. 

He  once  more  throws  suspicion  on  Bianca,  and  or- 
ders Emilia: 

Emilia,  run  you  to  the  citadel, 

And  tell  my  lord  and  lady  what  hath  happ'd. 

Then,  in  an   aside,  Iago  reveals  his  desperate  situa- 
tion: 

This  is  the  night 
That  either  makes  me  or  fordoes  me  quite. 

Shakespeare's  purpose  in  making  Iago  send 
Emilia  to  the  citadel  was  not  only,  not  primarily, 
to  inform  Othello  and  Desdemona  of  Roderigo's 
death  and  Cassio's  wounds,  but  to  direct  the  atten- 
tion of  the  spectators  to  the  citadel,  where,  in  a  bed- 
chamber, the  conclusion  of  the  drama  takes  place. 
It  is  by  these  little,  apparently  insignificant  touches, 
which  only  the  trained  eye  of  the  critic  sees,  that 
Shakespeare  manifests  his  perfect  technique. 

In  this  bedchamber,  in  which  a  light  is  burning, 
Desdemona  is  lying  in  bed,  asleep.  She  is  a  pic- 
ture, lovely,  chaste,  gentle,  beautiful,  a  sweeter  crea- 
ture the  world  hath  not  seen.  Othello  enters.  As  he 
beholds  Desdemona  he  soliloquizes,  and  reveals  to 
us  the  frightful  struggle  taking  place  within  him  be- 
tween his  almost  deathless  love  on  the  one  hand, 
and  what  he  believes  to  be  his  solemn  duty  on  the 
other: 

It  is  the  cause,  it  is  the  cause,  my  soul,  seq, 

■9 


4jQ  Shakespeare's  Plots 

Desdemona  awakens.  The  final  conversation  be- 
tween her  and  Othello  is  held.  He  informs  her  he 
intends  to  kill  her.  She  pleads  for  her  life.  His 
manner,  as  well  as  words,  beget  fear  in  her: 

And  yet  I  fear  you  ;  for  you  are  fatal  then 
When  your  eyes  roll  so:  seq. 

Her  only  sins,  she  tells  Othello, 

.     .     .     are  loves  I  bear  to  you, 

an  appeal  which  would  touch  the  heart  of  any  man, 
unless  he  were  heartless  like  Iago,  or  crazed  with 
doubt  and  jealousy  as  was  Othello.  Othello's  rage 
becomes  uncontrollable: 

Some  bloody  passion  shakes  your  very  frame: 
These  are  portents  ;  but  yet  I  hope,  I  hope, 
They  do  not  point  on  me. 

Othello  then  refers  to  the  handkerchief.  He 
charges  her  with  having  given  it  to  Cassio.  The 
evidence  of  this,  poor  misguided  man,  he  believes 
to  be  unimpeachable.  It  seems  to  him  damning 
proof  of  her  unfaithfulness.  Her  denials  he  refuses 
to  believe.  Desdemona  then  entreats  him,  first,  for 
her  life,  and  when  he  denies  that,  for  a  little  delay: 

O,  banish  me,  my  lord,  but  kill  me  not  ! 

Othello  refuses.  He  stifles  her.  Emilia,  bearing 
the  message  from  Iago,  arrives.  She  calls.  Othello 
does  not  at  once  respond.  He  delays  her  entrance. 
Finally  he  admits  her.     She  announces  the  death 


Othello  451 

of  Roderigo.  Desdemona  has  been  stifled,  but  not 
killed;  she  faintly  says: 

O,  falsely,  falsely  murder'd  ! 

A  guiltless  death  I  die. 

Othello  then  tells  Emilia  that  Desdemona  was  un- 
true, and  that  his  authority  for  the  assertion  was 
Iago.  Emilia  is  astonished,  she  cannot  believe  it, 
and  says,  again  and  again, 

My  husband  ! 
Othello  becomes  angry  and  responds: 

He,  woman  ; 
I  say  thy  husband:  dost  understand  the  word  ? 
My  friend,  thy  husband,  honest,  honest  Iago. 

Emilia  perceives  that  Iago  has  played  false  with 
Othello,  and  that  he  is  a  hellish  villain,  more  fierce, 
savage,  cruel,  than 

.     .     .     anguish,  hunger,  or  the  sea  ! 
She  replies  to  Othello: 

If  he  say  so,  may  his  pernicious  soul 

Rot  half  a  grain  a  day  !  he  lies  to  the  heart: 

She  was  too  fond  of  her  most  filthy  bargain. 

Emilia  denounces  Othello.  She  goes  further,  and 
defies  him. 

The  action  of  the  drama  is  now  moving  with  al- 
most lightning  rapidity.     Roderigo  and  Desdemona 


45 2  Shakespeare's  Plots 

have  been  murdered.  Their  dramatic  lives  are 
ended. 

In  response  to  Emilia's  outcries  Montano,  Grati- 
ano,  Iago,  and  others,  enter.  Emilia,  whose  whole 
nature  is  outraged  by  the  base  and  baseless  accusa- 
tions against  her  mistress,  has  become  defiant,  fear- 
less, desperate.     She  immediately  says  to  Iago: 

Disprove  this  villain,  if  thou  be'st  a  man:  seq. 

When  Iago  acknowledges  he  so  said,  she  responds: 

You  told  a  lie,  an  odious,  damned  lie  ;  seq. 

All  Iago's  efforts  to  silence  Emilia  are  unsuccessful. 
She  speaks  in  no  uncertain  sound: 

Villany,  villany,  villany  !  seq. 

Othello  seems  impressed  and  oppressed  by  what  she 
says.  He  falls  upon  the  bed.  A  moment  later  he 
rises,  and  tries  to  justify  his  deed  to  Gratiano,  Des- 
demona's  uncle.  Gratiano,  ignoring  Othello's  effort 
to  justify  his  act,  which  shows  horrible  and  grim, 
says: 

Poor  Desdemona  !  I  am  glad  thy  father  's  dead  : 
Tny  match  was  mortal  to  him,  and  pure  grief 
Shore  his  old  thread  in  twain  :  seq. 

This  allusion  to  Brabantio's  death  manifests  fine 
technique  on  Shakespeare's  part.  It  reveals  two 
facts: 

I. — This  marriage  was  as  fatal  to  Brabantio  as  to 
Desdemona,  Othello,  and  so  many  others. 


Othello  453 

II.  — In  the  most  skilful  and  dramatic  manner  it 
accounts  for  Brabantio's  removal  from  the  drama, 
after  the  Introduction. 

Othello  again  attempts  to  justify  his  deed.  Iago 
renews  his  effort  to  silence  Emilia.  Both  attempts 
are  fruitless.  Iago  realizes  that  Emilia's  revelation 
will  be  fatal  to  himself.  He  attempts  to  stab  her, 
but  is  unsuccessful.  Her  dramatic  life  is  not  to  end 
until  she  reveals  fully  the  story  of  the  handkerchief: 

0  thou  dull  Moor  !  that  handkerchief  thou  speak'st  of 

1  found  by  fortune  and  did  give  my  husband  ; 
For  often,  with  a  solemn  earnestness, 

More  than  indeed  belong'd  to  such  a  trifle, 
He  begg'd  of  me  to  steal  it. 

Having  made  this  revelation,  and  thereby  resolved 
the  complication  caused  by  the  handkerchief,  and 
made  manifest  the  villainy  of  Iago  and  the  inno- 
cence of  Desdemona,  Emilia's  work  in  the  drama  is 
almost  completed.  Iago  stabs  her  fatally,  and  then 
escapes.  Before  Emilia  dies,  however,  and  with 
her  very  latest  breath,  she  again  testifies  to  Desde- 
mona's  spotless  purity: 

Moor,  she  was  chaste  ;  she  loved  thee,  cruel  Moor  ; 
So  come  my  soul  to  bliss,  as  I  speak  true  ; 
So  speaking  as  I  think,  I  die,  I  die. 

These  revelations  of  Emilia  go  far  to  resolve  the 
Complication  of  the  drama.  They  are  a  perfect  ex- 
ample of  the  lusis,  the  untying  of  the  dramatic  knot. 

Montano  seizes  Othello's  sword  and  gives  it  to 
Gratiano,  commanding  him, 


454  Shakespeare's  Plots 

.     .     .     let  him  not  pass, 
But  kill  him  rather. 

Montano  himself  pursues  Iago,  to  wreak  ven- 
geance on  him.  Gratiano  guards  the  door  without 
to  prevent  Othello's  escape. 

The  effect  of  Emilia's  revelations  on  Othello  is 
what  might  be  expected  in  the  case  of  a  brave,  true 
man.  Life  without  honor  has  no  attraction  for 
Othello.  Nothing  remains  for  him  but  death.  For 
that  he  makes  every  preparation.  He  finds  another 
sword  in  the  chamber.  He  calls  to  Gratiano  to  al- 
low him  to  come  forth.  Gratiano  demurs.  On 
Othello's  invitation  he  enters.  Othello  addresses 
him.  He  reveals  the  radical  change  wrought  in  him 
by  Emilia's  statements: 

Behold,  I  have  a  weapon  ; 
A  better  never  did  itself  sustain 
Upon  a  soldier's  thigh  :  seq. 

Several  persons  enter.  They  constitute  the  last 
group  in  the  play.  Othello  is  there.  So  are  Gra- 
tiano, Desdemona's  uncle,  Lodovico,  her  kinsman, 
Montano,  the  Governor  of  Cyprus,  Cassio,  who  is 
wounded,  Iago,  a  prisoner.  Lodovico  speaks  first. 
He  does  not  chide  Othello.  He  recognizes  the  fact 
that  Othello  has  been  deceived.  He  speaks  of  him 
as 

.     .     .     this  rash  and  most  unfortunate  man. 

Then,  turning  to  the  officers  in  whose  charge  Iago 
is,  he  says : 

Where  is  that  viper  ?  bring  the  villain  forth. 


Othello  455 

Othello  looks  at  lago's  feet,  to  see  if  they  are 
cloven.  He  thinks  none  but  a  devil  could  act  as 
Iago  has.  He  wounds  Iago,  who  bleeds,  but  is  not 
killed.  Othello  does  not  regret  this.  To  a  man 
like  Iago  the  greatest  punishment  is  that  of  Cain, 
not  death,  but  life  prolonged,  filled  with  physical 
torture,  and  some,  at  least,  of  remorse. 

Lodovico  then  again  addresses  Othello  as  one 
who  is  a  victim  of  misplaced  confidence.  Othello 
describes  himself,  and  does  so  with  the  utmost  ac- 
curacy, as 

An  honourable  murderer,  if  you  will; 

For  nought  I  did  in  hate,  but  all  in  honour./ 

Lodovico  says: 

This  wretch  hath  part  confess'd  his  villany  : 
Did  you  and  he  consent  in  Cassio's  death  ? 

Othello  promptly  and  frankly  answers: 

Ay. 
Cassio,  of  whom  Iago  said, 

He  hath  a  daily  beauty  in  his  life, 

on  hearing  Othello's  confession,  said,  without  bit- 
terness or  malice: 

Dear  general,  I  never  gave  you  cause. 

Othello  assents  to  this.     He  begs  Cassio's  pardon, 
and  adds: 

Will  you,  I  pray,  demand  that  demi-devil 
Why  he  hath  thus  ensnared  my  soul  and  body  ? 


456  Shakespeare's  Plots 

There  are  two  facts  in  connection  with  this  ques- 
tion of  Othello  which,  apparently  insignificant,  are 
really  of  great  importance,  and  reveal  the  hand  of 
the  master: 

.  I. — Othello  describes  Iago  not  as  a  devil  but  a 
dcmi-dcvil.  If  Shakespeare  had  made  Iago  a  devil 
he  would  have  alienated  our  interest  in  him.  He, 
therefore,  while  making  him  diabolic,  made  him 
also  a  man,  having  some  ostensible  reason  for  his 
wickedness. 

II. — Othello  also  says: 

.     .     .     ensnared  my  soul  and  body. 

When  Othello  is  finally  and    fully  convinced  that 
Desdemona  is  innocent  he  realizes  there  is  but  one 
course  open  to  him,  vis,,  suicide.     This   is   fore- 
shadowed in  his  remark  just  cited. 
The  last  words  Iago  utters  are: 

Demand  me  nothing  :  what  you  know,  you  know  : 
From  this  time  forth  I  never  will  speak  word. 

Having  successfully  accomplished  his  hellish  plans 
to  wreak  vengeance  on  Cassio  and  Othello,  and  hav- 
ing brought  ruin  and  death  to  so  many,  this  man 
now  seeks  refuge,  not  in  repentance,  but  in  sullen, 
defiant  silence. 

In  order  to  throw  still  more  light  on  the  Compli- 
cation of  the  play,  and  to  make  the  Resolution  more 
complete,  Shakespeare  makes  Lodovico  reveal  the 
contents  of  two  letters  found  in  the  pockets  of  the 
dead  Roderigo: 


Othello  457 

.     .     the  one  of  them  imports 
The  death  of  Cassio  to  be  undertook 
By  Roderigo. 

And  the  other: 

There  is  besides  in  Roderigo's  letter, 
How  he  upbraids  Iago,  that  he  made  him 
Brave  me  upon  the  watch  ;  whereon  it  came 
That  I  was  cast  :  and  even  but  now  he  spake, 
After  long  seeming  dead,  Iago  hurt  him, 
Iago  set  him  on. 

Still  further  does  Shakespeare  resolve  the  Com- 
plication by  making  Cassio  tell  Othello  how  he 
came  by  the  handkerchief: 

I  found  it  in  my  chamber  : 
And  he  himself  confess'd  but  even  now 
That  there  he  dropp'd  it  for  a  special  purpose 
Which  wrought  to  his  desire. 

Thus,  step  by  step,  with  masterly  skill,  all  the 
Complication  of  the  drama  has  been  resolved.  The 
hidden  methods  by  which  Iago 

.  .  .  put  the  Moor 
At  least  into  a  jealousy  so  strong 
That  judgement  cannot  cure 

have  all  been  revealed. 

Iago  is  wounded,  and  in  custody  awaiting  retri- 
bution for  his  deeds.  Cassio's  innocence  is  fully 
established.     Desdemona's  dying  assertion, 

A  guiltless  death  I  die, 
has  been  proven  true. 


458  Shakespeare's  Plots 

It  only  remains  now  for  Shakespeare  to  end  the 
dramatic  life  of  Othello.  Lodovico,  the  represen- 
tative of  the  Duke  of  Venice,  assumes  judicial  func- 
tions.    Addressing  Othello,  he  says: 

You  shall  close  prisoner  rest, 
Till  that  the  nature  of  your  fault  be  known 
To  the  Venetian  state. 

Othello  responds,  and  his  words  are  a  perfect  speci- 
men of  narrative  verse : 

Soft  you  ;  a  word  or  two  before  you  go. 

I  have  done  the  state  some  service,  and  they  know  't. 

No  more  of  that.     I  pray  you,  in  your  letters, 

When  you  shall  these  unlucky  deeds  relate, 

Speak  of  me  as  I  am  ;  nothing  extenuate, 

Nor  set  down  aught  in  malice :  then  must  you  speak 

Of  one  that  loved  not  wisely  but  too  well  ; 

Of  one  not  easily  jealous,  but  being  wrought 

Perplex'd  in  the  extreme  ;  of  one  whose  hand, 

Like  the  base  Indian,  threw  a  pearl  away 

Richer  than  all  his  tribe  ;  of  one  whose  subdued  eyes, 

Albeit  unused  to  the  melting  mood, 

Drop  tears  as  fast  as  the  Arabian  trees 

Their  medicinal  gum.     Set  you  down  this  ; 

And  say  besides,  that  in  Aleppo  once, 

Where  a  malignant  and  a  turban'd  '  Turk 

Beat  a  Venetian  and  traduced  the  state, 

I  took  by  the  throat  the  circumcised  dog, 

And  smote  him,  thus.  (Stafis  himself.') 

1  Shakespeare  frequently,  as  here,  couples  together  an  abstract 
and  a  concrete  adjective,  e.  g.,  the  sear,  the  yellow  leaf  ;  a  nipping 
and  an  eager  air  ;  Diana's  Up  is  not  more  smooth  and  rubious  ;  a 
robustious  periwig-pated  fellow ;  the  wealthy  curled  darlings  ; 
some  sweet  oblivious  antidote. 


Othello  459 

Before  dying,  addressing  Desdemona's  corpse,  he 
pathetically  adds: 

I  kiss'd  thee  ere  I  killed  thee  : — no  way  but  this  ; 
Killing  myself,  to  die  upon  a  kiss. 

[Fa//s  on  the  bed,  and  dies. 

Such  anguish  as  Othello's  can  only  be  assuaged  in 
Paradise,  and  by  her  whom  he  sent  thither.  He, 
therefore,  hurries  after  her. 

The  play  then  ends  with  Lodovico's  words  to 
Iago,  to  Gratiano,  to  Cassio: 

O  Spartan  dog,  seq. 

Iago,  whose  hate  is  implacable,  fierce,  deadly, 
who  is,  as  Roderigo  with  his  dying  breath  describes 
him,  an  inhuman  dog,  lives.  His  victims  are  either 
wounded  or  dead.  Is  Shakespeare's  drama  in  this 
true  to  life  ? 

The  great  problem  of  human  life  is  the  existence  of 
evil.  And,  therefore,  one  of  the  great  objects  of  the 
poet's  interpretation  of  life  by  plot,  or  interwoven  action, 
is  to  exhibit  a  relationship  between  apparently  unde- 
served calamity  and  some  principle  which  is  based  upon 
natural  and  divine  law,  or  on  both.1 

Does  this  great  play  exhibit  this  relationship  ? 

A  drama  is  a  transcript  of  human  life.  If  it  is  a 
perfect  work  of  Art  it  must  be  in  accord  with  the 
experiences  of  men  and  women.  Mistakes  always 
bring  their  penalties  just  as  inevitably  as  do  crimes. 
Misplaced  confidence  wrecks  many  lives.  Cassio 
allowed  Iago  to  persuade  him  to  put  into  his  mouth 

1  Worsfold,  Principles  of  Criticism,  p.  188,  seq. 


46o  Shakespeare's  Plots 

an  enemy  that  stole  away  his  brains.  The  devil  drunk- 
enness and  the  devil  wrath  take  possession  of  him. 
His  command  is  taken  from  him.  He  is  disgraced. 
Eventually,  as  one  of  the  further  results  of  his  con- 
duct, he  is  seriously  wounded.  Othello,  great  of 
heart,  as  Cassio  says, — of  a  constant,  loving,  noble 
nature,  as  Iago  asserts, — allowed  himself  to  be 

.     .     .     as  tenderly  led  by  the  nose 
As  asses  are. 

The  consequence  is,  he  is  ruined. 

Patroclus'  warning  to  Achilles  (Troilus  and  Cres- 
sida)  applies  to  both  Cassio  and  Othello : 

O,  then,  beware  ! 
Those  wounds  heal  ill  that  men  do  give  themselves. 
Omission  to  do  what  is  necessary 
Seals  a  commission  to  a  blank  of  danger ; 
And  danger,  like  an  ague,  subtly  taints 
Even  then  when  we  sit  idly  in  the  sun. 

In  the  drama,  as  in  human  life, 

Some  innocents  'scape  not  the  thunderbolt. 

Emilia's  loyalty  to  her  mistress  costs  her  her  life. 
The  pure,  unselfish,  loyal,  loving  Desdemona  is 
cruelly  murdered.  Like  Cordelia,  like  many  an- 
other woman  in  real  life,  she  is  a  victim  of  circum- 
stances. Iago  is  wounded  but  not  killed.  Life  will 
bring  to  him  the  just  and  full  retribution  of  his 
deeds. 

Thus  Shakespeare's  conclusion  of  this  play  is  in 
perfect  harmony  with  all  the  demands  of  Poetic 
Justice. 


INDEX 


Action,  Aristotle's  theory  of ,  21  ; 
drama  representation  by  means 
of,  23  ;  Oracular  Action,  104 
sea.  ;  does  not  stop  with  end 
of  play,  230 

Adjectives,  Shakespeare  couples 
abstract  and  concrete,  458 

/Eschylus,  26 

Allen,  Grant,   33 

Alteration,  65,  97,  98 

Alternation,  65,  97,  98 

Amiel,  12,  footnote 

Antonio,  his  sadness,  nature  of, 
139  :  treatment  of  Shylock  by, 
140,  footnote 

Antony  and  Cleopatra,  107,   116 

Architectonike  in  work  of  Art 
15 

Argosies  in  Merchant  of  Venice, 
function  thereof,  152  sea. 

Aristotle,  plot  or  fable,  15  ;  def- 
inition of  drama,  20,  22  ;  con- 
sidered Plot  supreme  element 
in  tragedy,  23  ;  divisions  of 
drama,  30 ;  Jests,  lusis,  42  ; 
uniformity,  1 13  ;  pity  and  ter- 
ror. 132;  difference  between 
History  and   Poetry,   232  sea. 

Arnold,  Matthew,  18 

Art,  founded  upon  Nature,  1  ; 
function  not  imitation  but 
idealization,  2  ;  analogy  be- 
tween it  and  Nature  not  lim- 
ited to  appearances,  4  ;  origin 
of,  5  ;  Nature  is  pattern  of.  7 
sea.  ;  best  method  of  study, 
Classification,  9  sea.  ;  qual- 
ities  of,    13 ;     derivation    of 


word,  16  ;  Ruskin's  definition 
of,  16  ;  each  form  of,  possesses 
a  charm  sui  generis,  229  ; 
graduated,  266  sea. 

Artist  does  not  create  his  ma- 
terials,  24 

Asides,  their  function,  61 

Astrology,  256 

Athenian  Mechanicals,  108 


B 


Bacon,  3,  233 

Bain,  43,  footnote 

Balance,  29 

Baldwin,  6 

Bankside  edition  of  Shakespeare, 
176,  footnote 

Banquo,  a  defect  in  his  charac- 
ter, 75 

Bascom,  436 

Beauty,  physical,  psychical  basis, 
33  ;  limitations  of  poetic  art  in 
describing  it,  199  sea. 

Blank  verse,  Shakespeare's  use 
of,  2S2,  436 

Bosanquet,  20,  62,  132 

Bourdillon,  428 

Brabantio,  reference  to  his  death, 
purpose  thereof,  453 

Brown,  33 

Browning,  230  sea.,  430 


Catastrophe,  nature  and  function 
of,  50  sea.  ;  movement  of,  in 
Macbeth  rapid,  114 

Chance  not  deciding  factor  in 
life,  195 


461 


462 


Index 


Character  deciding  factor  in 
crises  of  life,  195 

Choose,  significance  of,  in  Mer- 
chant of  Venice,  146 

Classification,  in  Nature,  qseo.; 
in  study  of  drama,  11 

Climax,  nature  and  function  of, 
42  seq.  ;  centre  of  drama,  44 
seq.;  92,  1 87 

Clowns  in  Shakespeare's  plays, 
their  nature,  function,  333 

Coleridge,  18,  48,  97,  145,  164 

Comedy  portrays  frailties  which 
are  venial,  380 

Comic,  function  of,  in  Merchant 
of  Venice,  176  seq.  ;  comic 
scene  frequently  introduced  in 
tragedy,  2IO 

Complement  and  Balance  in 
Macbeth,  114,  122,  124;  in 
Merchant  of  Venice,  226  ;  in 
Julius  Ca-sar,  2S8  ;  in  Twelfth 
Night,  382 

Complicating  Force  in  Merchant 
of  Venice,  185 

•Complication  begins  with 
Growth,  161 

Confusion    of    Identity,    nature 
and    function    as   element    of 
Plot,    327    seq.  ;    in    (JLdipus 
the  King,  and  in  Shakespeare 
plays,  327  seq. 
Contrast,  Shakespeare  master  of, 
70  ;    in  Merchant   of   Venice, 
144,    219;  in    Twelfth  Night, 
344  seq.;  in  Othello,  419 
Cordelia,  461 
Curve,  line  of  beauty,  33 
Cymbeline,  confusion  of  identity 
in,  328  seq. 


D 


Dallas,  pity  and  terror,  133,  154 

Davenant,  Sir  William,  235  seq. 

Dowden,  9 

Drama,  as  a  Work  of  Art,  Chap. 
I.  ;  divided  into  five  parts,  12, 
28  seq.,  30;  Main  Action, 
Sub -Actions,    12;    Plot,    12, 


172;  best  method  of  studv,  13  ; 
Shakespeare's  method  of  con- 
structing, 17  ;  Aristotle's  def- 
inition   of,    20,    23  ;     primal 
quality   of,    23  ;     laws    which 
govern   construction   not   em- 
pirical, 24  ;  Aristotle's  division 
of,  30  ;  division  into  Acts  not 
real  but    imaginary,  31    seq.  ; 
written  in  form  of  arch,  32  ; 
desis,  lusis,  42  ;  Complication, 
Resolution,  48  ;  Nature,  Laws 
of    Construction,    Chap.    II. ; 
most    objective    form    of    lit- 
erature,  60  seq.  ;   Environing 
Action,    101  ;   stimulates   sen- 
sation,   perception,     emotion, 
134  ;     relation    of    Main    and 
Sub -Actions.     138;    Compli- 
cation   begins    with    Growth, 
161  ;    intervals   of    time,    how 
overcome      by      Shakespeare, 
180  ;    Link-Action,   161  ;  Cli- 
max   at    Mechanical    Centre, 
187  ;   written  to  be  acted,  190, 
389  ;   action    does    not     stop, 
230,  382  ;  only  those  elements 
of  a  character  portrayed  which 
are  evoked  by  the  action,  247  ; 
Character- Foil,  294  ;  motive  of 
action   must   be  worthy,  298  ; 
Link-Persons  in,    323  ;    Type 
of      Normal     in,     324     seq.  ; 
actors    in    drama    not    idiots, 
lunatics,   reason  therefor,    360 
seq.  ;    fundamental    traits    of 
character    must    be     revealed 
early  in  the  action,  372   seq.  ; 
comedy  portrays  frailties  which 
are  venial,    380 ;     mistake    in 
method      of      studying,     3S3 
seq.  ;    must    be    self-explana- 
tory, 402  ;  Gradation  in,  404  ; 
dialogue  in,  413  ;   tragedy  con- 
structed in  either  one  of  two 
ways,      416     seq.  ;     foreshad- 
owing   in,    418,    444 ;   minor 
characters     reflect      principal 
characters,     433     seq.  ;    tran- 
script of  life,  459 


Index 


463 


Dramatic    Hedging,     183,     189, 

222  ;  in  Othello,  408 
Dramatic  material,  its  requisites, 

27  SCO. 

Dryden,  21,  25 
Durer,  Albert,  I 


Emerson,  17,  47 

Emotion,  transforms,  reveals,  43; 
affinity  between  it  and  Nature, 
228,  249,  399  sea-  >'  expressed 
by  music,  320  seq. 

Emotional  chord  in  drama,  54 

Endymion,  229 

Environing  Action  in  drama, 
nature,  function,  101;  in  Mac- 
beth, 101  seq.,  152;  in  Mer. 
chant  of  Venice,  153  seq.  ;  in 
Julius  drsar,  289  seq. 

Epicurus,  his  philosophy,  310 

Episodes,  nature  and  function  of, 
40  seq.,  175  ;  of  Rings  in  Mer- 
chant of  Venice,  223  ;  in  Jul- 
ius Casar,  304 


Fall,    nature,   function   of,  45; 

more  or  less  episodic,  435  seq. 
Falstaff,  148 
Fate,  86,  236 
Faust,  3,  7 
First     Folio,     stage    directions, 

Macbeth,  no 
Fools    in    Shakespeare's    plays, 

their  nature,  function,  333  seq. 
Freeman,  Unity  of  History,  241 

seq. 
Free- Will,  236 
Froude,  235 
Fuller,  Thomas,  43 


Gervinus,  14 

Goethe,  7;  architectonike*,  15 
(iosse,  16 

Gradation  and  Contrast  in  Mer- 
chant of  Venice,  144 


Growth,  nature  and  function  of, 
39 

H 

Hamilton,  Sir  William,  257 
Hamlet,  34,  36,  45  ;  play  within 

the  play,  347.  419 
Hand,    reference   to,    by    Lady 

Macbeth,  120 
Hartman,  93 
Hegel,  2,  13,  footnote,  62  seq., 

136 
Hippolyta,  198 
History,    difference    between   it 

and  Poetry,  232  seq. 
Horace.  30,  40,  48,  96,  III 
Hugo,  Victor,  116 


Iago,  pitiless,  438 

Iliad,  200 

Incompleteness,  characteristic  of 
work  of  Art,  manifested  in 
Merchant  of  Venice,  230  seq  ; 
in  Twelfth  Night,  382 

Interest,  discussion  on,  in  Mer- 
chant of  Venice,  165  seq. 

Introduction,    nature,    function 

of,  33 
Invention, manifested  in  Growth, 

161  ;  in  Merchant  of  Venice, 

161  seq. 
Irony,  in  Macbeth,  97,  106 


J 


James,  5  seq. 

Jew  of  Malta,  162,  184 

Johnson,  16 

Johnson,  Dr.,  14 

Jonson,  Ben,  45 

Jouffroy,  8 

Jowett,  93 

Julius  Casar,  22,  38,  39,  Chap. 
V.  ;  nature  of  this  play,  237 
seq. ;  Shakespeare's  portraiture 
of  Cresar  in,  247  ;  scale  of  de- 
lineation in,  248;  Climax  very 


464 


Index 


Julius  Casar — Continued. 
long,  266 ;  prose  and  blank 
ven>e  in,  282  ;  mob  Environ- 
ing Action,  289  ;  Tent  Scene, 
analysis  of,  "lcflseq,;  Episodes, 
304 ;  Catastrophe  of,  not  so 
much  tragic  as  pathetic,    313 

"1- 
Justice,  poetic,  moral,  131  j  Trial 

Scene  in  Merchant  of  Venice, 

travesty  of,  211 

K 

Keats,  54 

Kindness,  sense  in  which  Lady 
Macbeth  uses  word,  66,  foot- 
note 

Knight,  Philosophy  of  Beautiful, 
1,  2,  3,  8,  24,  321 


Lady  Macbeth,  65  ;  difference 
between  her  and  Macbeth,  66 

Landor,  Walter  Savage,  25,  113 

Lanier,  196 

Laugel,  M.  Auguste,  6 

Lessing,  24,  footnote,  30,  III, 
201,  202,  234,  footnote 

Lewes,  23,  footnote 

Link-Action,  181 

Link-Person,  Launcelot  is,  177  ; 
Jessica  is,  181  ;  Viola  is,  323  ; 
function  of,  323  seq. 

Lists,  meaning  of,  86 

Local  Color  in  drama,  53  seq. 

Love,  tragic  or  comic,  322 

Love's  Labour  's  Lost,  25  ;  con- 
fusion of  identity  in,  328 

Lowell,  11,  16;  definition  of 
drama,  23  ;  nature  of  original- 
ity, 25  seq.,  33,  62,  in,  116, 
386 

M 

Macbeth,  character  development 
of,  124 ;  moral  reactions  in, 
128  ;  unlike  Lady  Macbeth, 
128 

Macbeth^    22.   44,   45,    Chapter 


III.  ;  Main  Action  of,  62  ;  real 
tragedy  of,  62  ;  real  scene 
of,  62 ;  difference  between 
Macbeth  and  Lady  Macbeth, 
66  ;  Character  Growth,  87  ; 
Climax  of  play  at  centre,  92 
seq.;  Oracular  Action  in,  104 
seq.;  introduction  of  Macduff's 
Son,  109  ;  Lady  Macduff  not 
murdered  on  stage,  significance 
thereof,  no;  stage  directions 
in  First  Folio,  no;  Comple- 
ment and  Balance  in,  114. 
122;  movement  of  Catastrophe 
rapid,  114;  reference  by  Lady 
Macbeth  to  hand,  120;  conclu- 
sion of  play  complements  be- 
ginning, 123,  313,  416 
Macduff,  Lady,  not  murdered  on 
stage,  significance  thereof,  no 
Macduff's  Son,  109 
Mahaffy,  pity  and  terror,  132 
Marlowe,  quotation  from  Ed- 
ward II. ,  116;  character  of 
Barabas,  162,  184 
Mechanical  Centre,   Climax  at, 

187 
Merchant  of  Venice,  34,  35,  38, 
41,  44,  45,  53,  Chap.  IV.  ; 
Main  and  Sub-Actions,  137  ; 
Gradation  and  Contrast  in, 
144 ;  significance  of  word 
choose,  146  ;  function  of  Argo- 
sies, 152  seq.;  Environing  Ac- 
tion in,  153  seq.;  invention  in, 
161  seq.;  discussion  on  inter- 
est therein,  165  seq.;  Episodes 
in,  175;  comic  in,  176;  Vari- 
ety in,  177;  Dramatic  Hedg- 
ing in,  183,  189;  Complicating 
Force  in,  185;  Resolving  Force 
in,  185  ;  Casket  Scene  (III., 
2)  Climax,  186  seq.;  Mechani- 
cal Centre,  187  ;  Plot  of  this 
play  criticised,  191  seq.;  story 
of  Choice  of  Caskets,  191  seq.; 
law  in,  travesty  of  justice, 
211  ;  Trial  Scene  in,  written 
in  form  of  arch,  220  ;  Poetic 
Justice   in,    221  ;    Episode   of 


Index 


465 


Merchant  of  Venice — Continued. 
Rings,  223  seq.;  Portia's  char- 
acter, 225  seq.;  Complement 
and  Balance  in,  226  seq.;  mu- 
sic in,  229  ;  action  does  not 
stop,  230 ;  confusion  of  iden- 
tity in,  328 

Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  con- 
fusion of  identity  in,  328 

Midsummer- Night's  Dream,  25; 
play  within  the  play,  347 

Milton,  27 

Miser,  Shakespeare  never  cre- 
ated one,  164 

Morley,  25 

Moulton,  69,  footnote,  163,  foot- 
note 

Mailer,  Max,  10,  256 

Murray,  Ancient  Greek  Litera- 
ture, 310,  footnote,  333 

Music,  least  imitative  of  arts,  24  ; 
in  Merchant  of  Venice,  229  ; 
expressive  of  human  emotion, 

320  seq.  ;   in  Twelfth  Night, 

321  seq.;  custom  of  Venetians 
to  greet  bride  and  groom  with, 
418  seq. 

N 

Napoleon,  citation  from  Taine's 

essay,  383 
Nature,  affinities  between  it  and 

human  thought,  emotion,  228, 

249,  399  "1- 
Nemesis,  131,  416 
Newman,  John  Henry,  25,  233 


Oliphant,  67,  footnote 
Oracular  Action,  104 
Originality,  definition  of,  25 
Othello,    22,    38,   43,  44,  Chap- 
ter  VII.  ;  grouping   in,   391  ; 
significance    of    farewells     in 
Introduction,  396  ;  Iago  Com- 
plicating Force  in  first  half  of 
play,  397  ;    action  ushered  in 
with  a  storm,  iqqseq.;  Turkish 
fleet  destroyed, why?  401 ;  scope 
not  national  or  international. 


401  ;  Gradation  in,  404  seq.; 
Iago  iterates  and  reiterates  his 
suspicions  that  Othello  had 
been  intimate  with  Emilia, 
why  ?  407  seq.  ;  Dramatic 
Hedging  in,  408 ;  soliloquies 
in,  414  seq.;  play  is  self-ex- 
planatory, 414  ;  knowledge  of 
Iago  derived  from  his  solilo- 
quies, 420 


Pater,  38 
Patroclus,  460 

Pity  and  terror,  Aristotle's 
theory,  132  ;  Lessing's  theory, 
132  ;  Mahaffy's  theory,  132 
seq.;  theory  of  Dallas,  133 
seq.;  Woodberry's  theory,  134 

Plato,  93 

Play-impulse,  imitative,  5  ;  dif- 
ference between  it  and  art- 
impulse,  6 

Plays  within  plays,  346  seq. 

Plot,  makes  play  organic.  12  ;  its 
nature,  15,  17,  172  ;  Aristotle's 
opinion  of,  28  ;  of  Merchant 
of  Venice  criticised,  191  seq. 

Plutarch,  235,  236 

Poetic  Justice,  in  Macbeth,  131, 
212  seq.,  416  ;  in  Merchant  of 
Venice,  221 ;  in  Julius  Casar, 
306,  380  seq.  ;  in  Othello,  459 
seq. 

Poetry,  antithesis,  likeness,  be- 
tween it  and  Science,  18; 
difference  between  it  and  His- 
tory, 232  seq. 

Pope,  24 

Porter  in  Macbeth,  80 

Portia,  Resolving  Force,  208 ; 
her  character,  225  seq. 

Prose,  Shakespeare's  use  of,  282 
436 

Prospero,  149 


Raymond,  George  Lansing,  10, 
13.33.47.93.  32»,3a3 


466 


Index 


Remorse,  perfect  description  of, 

in  Macbeth,  80 
Repetition,  65,  97,  98 
Resolving  Force  in  Merchant  of 

Venice,  185,  208 
Return  or  Revolution  in  drama, 

97 
Reynolds,  Sir  Joshua,  I,  29 
Richard  III. ,  38,  315 
A'omeo  and  Juliet,  22,  34,  36,  39, 

41,45;  Catastrophe  of,    315; 

portrays  tragic  phase  of  love, 

322 
Royce,  originality  and  imitation, 

26 
Ruskin,    Modern    Painters,    2  ; 

definition  of  Art,  16,  29,   47, 

III,  131,  144 


Saintsbury,   16 

Scale  of  delineation  in  Julius 
Cwsar,  248 

Schiller,  play-impulse,  4  ;  grada- 
tion, 40 

Science,  antithesis,  likeness,  be- 
tween it  and  Poetry,  18 

Selection,  necessary  faculty  of 
artist,  27 

Shakespeare,  his  originality,  26 
sea.;  his  division  of  plays  into 
Acts,  31  ;  his  portraitare  of 
Caesar,  247  ;  his  Clowns  or 
Fools,  333  sea. ;  use  of  Con- 
trast, 344  ;  use  of  plays  within 
plays,  346  seq.;  manifests  cru- 
dity, 347^./  couples  abstract 
and  concrete  adjectives,  458 

Shylock,  not  miser,  162  ;  his  de- 
scription of  Antonio,  163,  foot- 
note 

Socrates,  4 

Soliloquies,  their  function,  61 

Sophocles,  (Edi/>us  the  King,  327 

Spencer,  Herbert,  5,  9,  436 

Subsidiary  Actions,  nature  and 
function  of,  40,  175 

Sully,  33 

Swinburne,  95 

Symmetry,  29  ;  in  Macbeth,  122 


Taine,  citation    from    essay  on 

Napoleon,  383 

Taming  of  the  Shrew,  347 

Tempest,  25 

Tennyson,  The  Lotos-Eaters,  321 

Terror  and  pity,  Aristotle's 
theory,  132  ;  Lessing's  theory, 
132;  Mahaffy's  theory,  132 
seq.  ;  theory  of  Dallas,  133 
seq.;  Woodberry's  theory,  134 

Theseus,  198 

Thought,  affinity  between  it  and 
Nature,  228,  249,  399  seq. 

Time,  intervals  of,  how  over- 
come by  Shakespeare,  180  seq. 

Todhunter,  177 

Trench,  67,  footnote 

Trial  Scene  in  Merchant  of 
Venice,  caricature  of  justice, 
211  ;  written  in  form  of  arch, 
220 

Twelfth  Night,  37.  38,  Chapter 
VI.  ;  dramatic  motive  of,  319; 
portrays  comic  phase  of  love, 

322  ;  three  groups  of  charac- 
ters,   323  ;    Link-Persons     in, 

323  seq.;  Plot  of,  founded  on 
confusion  of  identity,  327  seq.; 
duels  therein  stopped  before 
they  are  fought,  reasons  there- 
IO>\  354  seq.;  Sebastian  not 
allowed  to  think  he  or  Olivia 
is  insane,  360  seq.;  pervaded 
with  lyrical  element,  381  seq.; 
artistic  unfmish  in,  382 

Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  con- 
fusion of  identity  in,  328 

Tyndall,  18  seq. 

Type  of  Normal,  in  drama,  324; 
Viola  is  example,  31:4  seq. 


U 


Unfinish,  characteristic  of  work 
of  Art,  manifested  in  Merchant 
of  Venice,  230 seq.;  in  Twelfth 
Night,  3S2 

Unity,  in  work  of  Art,  9,  io,  13  ; 


Index 


467 


Unity — Con  tin  ued. 
Greek  law  of,  21  ;  in  modern 
drama   implies   three   specific 
properties,  21  sea.,  176 


Vanity  Fair,  196,  footnote 
Variety  in  work  of  Art,  9, 10, 13, 

176  sea. 
Venice,  its   history,    154;  pros- 
perity of,  based  on  commerce, 
306 


W 

Weird-Sisters,  message  to  Mac 
beth  and  Banquo,  55  sea.  , 
Environing  Action  in  Macbeth, 
101,  104 

Winckelmann,  198,  199,  footnote 

Woman,  Shakespeare  frequently 
disguises  in  male  habit,  207 
sea.;  Shakespeare's  portraiture 
of,  209 

Woodberry,  pity  and  terror,  134 

Worsfold,  459 

Wreteh,  meaning  of,  in  Eliza- 
bethan English,  422,  footnote 


Works  in  Literature 


American  Literature,  1607-1885 

By  Prof.  Charles  F.  Richardson 

Dartmouth  College 
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French   Ambassador  to  the  United  States.     Author  of  "The  English 
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A  Manual  lor  Parents  and  Teachers  In  Schools  and 
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